that's how you marry a lord
by edward'me
Summary: You canna marry him" the priest burst out "why" bella said like nothing was wrong "he's not even conscious" the priest burst out again "He canna even say his own name"
1. preface

Prologue

Stirling, Scotland

April 9, 1807

Carlisle Cullen died as he had lived: awash in a haze of fine bourbon, his perfectly tailored coat pockets

stuffed with his winnings from a night of wild gaming, and reeking faintly of the perfume of another man's

wife.

Carlisle had whiled away this particular evening at a grand house outside Stirling, lured from London by the

charms of the lovely Lady Lucinda Featherington. Lord Featherington, ambassador to a distant foreign

clime, was due home any day. Carlisle had overcome the lady's qualms at his presence with a heated kiss

and a murmured suggestion that had sent a delighted flush through that not-easily-shocked woman.

"Black Carlisle" lived lustily, and many were the hearts tossed his way only to be smashed upon the hard

rocks of his heart. Women were always guaranteed a good time in his bed, though.

Hours later, the sound of a carriage rumbling up the drive had caused the lady to gasp, throw back the

covers and scramble from Carlisle's arms. Carlisle just laughed. He didn't fear Lord Featherington; the man

was a pitiful shot and had never hit his man. Carlisle never missed.

Hours later, the sound of a carriage rumbling up the drive had caused the lady to gasp, throw back the

covers and scramble from Carlisle's arms. Carlisle just laughed. He didn't fear Lord Featherington; the man

was a pitiful shot and had never hit his man. Carlisle never missed.

Amused and a mite tipsy from sampling her husband's excellent cellars, Carlisle allowed himself to be

coaxed into climbing out the window. Just as the doorknob of the master bedchamber turned, Carlisle leapt

from the trellis to the garden below.

Whistling to himself, he sauntered through the gardens to the stable, where he gathered his horse from a

surprised groom. Then he was off, flying back to the amusements to be had in London. If he changed

horses along the way, he would arrive in two days, in plenty of time for Lord Mooreland's private card

party. Mooreland was a fool, but he entertained with a lushness that was unparalleled.

A more prudent gentleman would have taken the York Road, with its wide avenue and frequent inns.

Carlisle took the stage road to Ayr, a dark and lonely road notorious for its highwaymen. The Ayr Road

was doubly dangerous for a lone man on horse, especially one dressed in London finery, a ruby flashing

on one hand, his head muddled by Lord Featherington's best bourbon.

Carlisle urged his spirited horse to a gallop, heedless of the darkness and highwaymen alike.

As he turned a corner, the calm, balmy weather changed with an abruptness that stunned him. The skies

suddenly opened with a clap of thunder, and a heavy, drenching rain slashed down. Cold and sharp, it

soaked him in a second, and the thunder caused his horse to rear. Carlisle's hands slipped from the wet

reins, and he fell. As the ground rushed up to greet him, the faint scent of lilacs tickled his nose, then the

fall stole both his breath and his consciousness.

Sometime later, he awoke to the stinging slap of rain on his face. He lay in a deep puddle of mud, its

thick ooze gluing him in place. His hair stuck to his forehead and clung to his neck, rain running over him

in rivulets. The warm mud that held him to the ground was in striking contrast to the cold rain sluicing

down upon him. Rain that smelled like lilacs…

Bella Swan.

But surely not. He hadn't spoken to her in fifteen years, though he could still picture her exactly as he'd

seen her last: rich brown hair falling about her face, her tears hidden by the rain—

His heart tightened. There was no sense in remembering that. And to think that this accident involved

Bella merely because of the scent of lilacs was ridiculous. He must have hit his head harder than he

thought. Indeed, it was difficult to think at all, his temples ached so much.

Bloody hell, he didn't have time for this. There were women to be bedded, wagers to be won, bourbon

to be tasted.

But as with all things in Carlisle Cullen's badly lived life, it was too late.

Far too late.

Groaning, he rolled to his elbow, the mud sucking at him, his head protesting with a burst of colors and pain as he moved. Suddenly, he knew this was the end. He wasn't going to make is death. And

here I am; cold, sodden, and alone. He'd never meant to die like this. He'd never meant to die at all. His

eyes slid closed as a wave of blackness descended upon him, and he fell backward into the mud.

pain as he moved. Suddenly, he knew this was the end. He wasn't going to make is death. And

here I am; cold, sodden, and alone. He'd never meant to die like this. He'd never meant to die at all. His

eyes slid closed as a wave of blackness descended upon him, and he fell backward into the mud.

worth, fer it makes 'em difficult to bargain with. Shrewd they are; 'tis rare they come out on the bottom

side of any bargain. Yer own pa says he'd rather be bit by a sheep than dicker with a Swan.


	2. Chapter 1

Gretna Green, Scotland

April 9, 1807

Bella Swan forced herself to smile. "Father MacCanney, we've come to be married."

The heavyset priest looked uncertainly from Bella to the groom and then back. "B-but—he's not—I

canna—"

"Yes you can, Father," Bella said in her calmest voice, her hands fiercely fisted in the strings of her reticule.

Come hell or high water, she was about to end the longest, most drawn-out, and most foolish feud in all

Scotland. And thereby lose her freedom, her carefully planned future, and perhaps even a bit of her

heart.

The thought made her stomach sink lower. But this marriage was necessary if she wished to keep her brothers safe from their own foolish 's the only way. I cannot waver.

"Bella, lass," Father MacCanney said in an exasperated voice, "he's not fit to be a groom!"

"All the more reason for me to marry the fool." At the priest's blink of surprise, she quickly added, "'Tis a known fact that a good woman can turn even the most contrary, rotten, stubborn ne'er-do-well into a

responsible man."

The priest glanced uneasily at her prospective groom. "Aye, but—"

"Have no fear for me, Father. I know he's no prize, but he's the one I want."

"Bella, I know the lad might benefit from the match. 'Tis just—"

"I know," she said, sighing bravely. "He's a philanderer who's been with every woman from the North Sea to the fleshpots of London."

The priest flushed at the mention of fleshpots. "Yes, yes. So everyone knows, but—"

"He is also a complete wastrel who has made no effort to embrace a useful life. I know he's not the best choice of groom, but—"

"He's not even conscious!" The priest burst out "He canna even say his own name"

Bella glanced down to where her man, Hamish, had dropped her groom on the cold flagstone at her feet. Muddy rivulets dripped onto the church floor from Cullen's clothing. "I was afraid that was your problem." Even unconscious, Carlisle was a royal pain. Some things never changed.

"Lassie, ye canna drag an unconscious man to the altar."

"Why not?"

"Because—because 'tis just not done, that's why!"

The priest eyed Hamish with suspicion. Bella's massive guard stood silently behind her as he'd done

since she was a child. A large sword hung at his side, three primed pistols were stuck into his wide

leather belt, his bushy red beard bristled, and his fierce gaze pinned them all in place.

"How did the lad come to be unconscious and muddy?" Father MacCanney asked pointedly.

Bella hated to lie. She really did. But the less the priest knew, the safer he'd be from retribution from

her brothers. Torn in pain at the loss of their youngest brother, they raged through Castle Swan, fists

lifted to the sky, fury pouring from them.

The curse of the Swans had flowed then. Rain and thunder had flooded from the skies for days,

threatening those who lived in the village below Castle Swan. The river had already been swollen

from early spring rains, and the danger of flooding was imminent.

Bella could not let that happen. And she knew how to stop the feud. First, she'd had to find Carlisle

Cullen. Thank goodness Hamish had heard rumors of his dalliance with some woman in nearby Stirling;

it was simple to find the wastrel then.

She could only hope that the rest of her plan would follow so easily. Somehow, she greatly doubted she'd be so blessed. She shrugged and said with as much cheerful indifference as she could muster, "We found him."

"Unconscious?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In the road. His horse must have bolted."

The priest did not look convinced. "How did the lad get so wet?" He eyed her with deep suspicion.

"There's not been any rain in this part of Scotland in over three weeks."

Bella had to distract him. "Hamish, can you awaken the lout? Father MacCanney will not marry us

unless he's conscious."

Hamish grunted, then bent over, grabbed the unconscious Carlisle Cullen by the hair, and lifted his head.

Bella's gaze fell on his face, and her heart leapt. Even splashed with mud, his dark red hair plastered flat

from the rain, Carlisle Cullen was painfully handsome. Fine, firmly cut features with a strong jaw and

masculine nose, deep auburn hair, and, had they been open, the blue, blue eyes of an angel.

Bella's gaze fell on his face, and her heart leapt. Even splashed with mud, his dark red hair plastered flat

from the rain, Carlisle Cullen was painfully handsome. Fine, firmly cut features with a strong jaw and

masculine nose, deep auburn hair, and, had they been open, the blue, blue eyes of an angel.

In the distance, a faint rumble of thunder caused the priest to look toward the open windows. Outside,

bright sunshine warmed the stone walls, nary a cloud in the blue sky.

Bella's gaze remained on Cullen. It took all of her moral strength not to kick him—just a little—while

he was so conveniently at her feet.

Since that dark day fifteen years ago when she'd discovered Carlisle Cullen's true nature, she'd kept her emotions and thoughts about him locked away. She'd thought they'd died, but apparently some anger

and resentment remained.

Still grasping Carlisle's hair, Hamish shook his head, then looked at Bella. "The Carlisle ass is not awakening."

"I can see that." Bella sighed. "Let him be."

Hamish dropped his burden, ignoring the thud that made the priest wince.

Relief filled Father MacCanney's face. "Ye can't marry him, then."

"Yes, I can," Bella said firmly. "He will awaken soon."

The priest sighed. "Ye are the most stubborn lass I ever met."

"Only when I must be. You cannot deny that 'twill be good for the lout to be in the care of a strong woman."

"No," Father MacCanney said in a constricted voice. "I canna deny that."

"I'll put up with neither drinking nor carousing. He will also be made to attend church regularly. Whether he knows it or not, Carlisle's wild days are over."

Something like pity flickered over the priest's face. "You canna make a person change, lassie. They

have towant to change."

"Then I shallmake him want to change."

The priest took her gloved hand in his. "Why do you wish to embark on this madness, lassie?"

"'Tis the only way to stop the feud. Edward's death must be the last," she said in a hard voice.

The priest's eyes had filled with tears. "I mourn your brother, too, lass."

"You cannot mourn Edward more than I. And as if his death is not enough to bear, my older brothers are

calling out for vengeance. If someone does not stop this nonsense now—" Her voice broke.

Edward, beautiful Edward. Her youngest brother, with his quicksilver grin and equally fast flashes of

temper, was now lying six feet under, a stone marker the only reminder of his life. And all because of an

idiotic feud that began hundreds of years ago.

One blow, the edge of the stone hearth…and that was it. Edward was dead, and the banked fires of the

age-old feud had erupted into flames.

The priest pressed her hand. "I've heard that the Cullens feel Edward's death was not their fault. That

perhaps someone else—"

"Please, Father. Do not."

The priest looked at her face. She knew what he was seeing: the circles under her eyes, the paleness of

her skin, the tremor of her lips as she fought desperately to keep her tears at bay.

"Father," she said softly, "my brothers blame Eric Cullen for Edward's death. Nothing I say can cool

their thirst for vengeance. But if I marry Carlisle, he and his kin will be a part of our family. My brothers will

be forced to let go of their plans." Her determined gaze locked with the priest's. "I will not lose another

brother." Anger surged through her, raw and furious.

Outside, the ominous rumble of thunder darkened the otherwise clear day. Hamish nodded, as if

agreeing with an unspoken thought. Father MacCanney, meanwhile, paled.

The priest was silent a long moment, and Bella could see he was on the verge of agreeing. He just

needed a little push.

"Besides, Father, if I make this sacrifice and marry to end the feud, it might break the curse."

Father MacCanney swallowed noisily and pulled his hand from her grasp. "Hsst, lass! I'll have none of

that curse talk in this holy place."

That was because he believed it. According to the old tales, a white witch, disgusted with Bella's

greatgrandfather's temper and self-serving ways, had declared that from then on, every member of the

Swan family would be given tenuous control over something as tempestuous as they were—the

weather.

Whenever a Swan lost his or her temper, lightning caused thatched houses to catch afire and made

the ground tremble. Hail tore away the leaves of every tree and greenery within sight. Floods roared

through the valley, ruining harvests, washing away homes and, sometimes, people.

When the people of the village saw clouds gathering at Castle Swan on the hill, they huddled in their

houses in fear.

Bella closed her eyes. They were her . Just as Edward had been her brother. She could not

fail in this. If she did not defuse the situation, her brothers' fury would unthinkingly destroy everything.

The only way to break the curse was for every member of a generation to perform a "deed of great

good." So far, no generation had succeeded. Perhaps this would count as Bella's deed.

Bella looked at the priest from beneath her lashes. "The curse has been proven time and again, Father."

The priest shook his head. "I feel fer yer family, lass. But this mad idea—"

Desperate, Bella pressed her hands over her last hope. "Father, I have no choice. Cullen has to marry me."

Father MacCanney's eyes widened. "Blessed saints above, ye can't mean—ye haven't—ye didn't—"

"Aye. I am with child."

The priest whipped out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. "Dear me! Dear me! That changes everything, it does. I'll not have a bastard born in my parish."

Bella threw her arms about the priest's neck. "Oh, thank you, Father! I knew I could count on you."

He returned the hug, sighing. "Ye'd just find another if I didna assist ye, anyway."

"I wouldn't wish anyone else to marry me, Father." Of course, she'd never thought to marry this way at all. She'd thought that someday, she'd meet a bonny man who would fall deeply in love with her, and

they'd have a lovely wedding here in the church, surrounded by flowers and her family. None of that

would happen now.

Sadness for what she'd never have pressed on her heart, but she resolutely pushed the feeling aside.

"Father MacCanney, this is the right thing. It will be a new beginning for us all."

The priest sighed again, then turned to Hamish. "At least bring the lad to his feet. No man should marry

from the dirt on the floor."

"Thank you, Father," Bella said again. "You won't be sorry."

"'Tis notme who might be sorry for this day's work, lassie."

Bella hoped he was wrong.

Hamish prodded the fallen man with his huge boot. "Perhaps I should dunk his head in some water." He turned to gaze at the cistern.

Father MacCanney gasped. "That is holy water!"

"I dinna think God would mind. Besides, 'tis his wedding day and—"

"No," Father MacCanney said firmly. He pursed his lips. "Perhaps a wee dram would stir the man."

Hamish stiffened.

"Hamish," Bella reproved. "We must all sacrifice."

"Ye ask a lot," Hamish growled. He reached into his coat and pulled out a flask. Reluctantly, he opened it and put it to his mouth.

"Damn ye!" Hamish yanked away the flask. "Ye drank half me whiskey!" The Scotsman grabbed

Cullen's collar and hauled him up, looking ready to punch him.

"Thank you, Hamish," Bella said swiftly, moving to stand beside Cullen.

Cullen blinked, then looked around woozily. "This is…church? I've never before dreamed I was in a

church."

Bella slipped an arm through his, trying to steady him. He slumped against her, his masculine scent of

sandalwood and musk enveloping her. She immediately had a memory of another time, long ago, of hot

hands and hot desires, the desperate ache of wanting—

Outside, thunder rumbled again over the sun-drenched garden.

Father MacCanney seemed to have trouble swallowing. Hamish sent Bella a hard look.

She blushed, then cleared her throat. "Cullen, you are indeed in a church. You are here to marry me."

"Marry?" He looked down at her, and she was struck by the vividness of his gaze, the brilliant blue of Loch Lomond.

She felt herself drawn into that gaze, pulled in, sinking as if into a pool of heated water.

A faint smile curved his lips. "Bella Swan." The words tickled her ear, smoky and seductive.

To her utter dismay, a low heat simmered at his nearness, building with a rapidity that made her gasp.

The thunder rumbled louder, and a stir of heated wind sent the flowers bobbing, the grass rippling.

Bella clenched her hands into fists, forcing her heart to resume a steady beat. She could not let herself

lose control. She'd known the dangers of this errand. Carlisle Cullen had this effect on every

woman. None is special, she reminded herself.

Her passions cooled at the thought. "Cullen, stand alert," she said in a brisk tone. "We've important

things to do this day."

His gaze flickered over her face, lingering on her eyes, her lips. He lowered his face until his

whiskey-scented breath warmed her ear and cheek. "Tell me, love, if I marry you in this dream, will I win my way back into your bed?"

Her breath caught, and she whispered back, "Yes, you will be welcome into my bed. This is a real marriage, though we do not care for each other."

"Speak for yourself."

She raised her eyes to his, her heart strangely still. "What…what do you mean?"

"I mean I do care for you. I lust at the thought of touching you, of—"

"That is not caring." Why had she thought he'd meant anything else? If her time with Carlisle had taught her anything, it was that he was not capable of caring. Not really. "We can discuss all of this later. Right now,

we must marry."

His gaze drifted over her face again, resting on her lips. A slow, seductive smile curved his mouth. "I will marry you, Bella Swan, and bed you well, as is meant to be. That is indeed the stuff of dreams."

She whispered furiously, "Carlisle, this is serious. If we marry, we can end the feud."

"Feud?"

She blinked. "The one between our families."

" feud. I'd worry about that myself, if I weren't already dead and dreaming." He slung his arm over her shoulder. "What the hell! Do your worst, Father," he said grandly. "It's just a dream."

Father MacCanney met Bella's gaze. "Are ye sure, lass?" he asked again.

Outside, the wind was dying a bit, though the heavy taste of rain and the unmistakable scent of lilac filled the air.

Bella took a deep breath. In a few moments, she would be married. Married to a man who would

shortly be sober and furious at the events she'd forced upon him. Married to the man who had long ago

betrayed her. A man who would betray her again, if she were foolish enough to give him a chance.

She straightened her shoulders. There would be no more chances.

"Yes, Father," she said in a steady voice. "I am ready."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Long, long ago, before there was an England or even a Scotland, seven clans lived in this valley. Times

were peaceful, and everyone strove to get along. Everyone, that is, but the Swans. Och, a proud clan

they are, and fiery of temper. Even back then, before kings drew their lines on the land and called them

countries…

Carlisle awoke slowly, drifting to awareness as if he floated on a feather pillow. He turned his head slowly,

then frowned. Hewas on a feather pillow, covered with fresh-smelling white linen. Cautiously, he spread

his hands and discovered that he was resting on an equally soft feather mattress.

This wasn't death. This was an overstuffed featherbed.

Carlisle slitted open his eyes, struggling to focus against the painfully bright light. His head throbbed at even

that small effort. By Zeus, what had happened? He remembered riding in the woods. A sound in the

brush. Thunder, then the feel of icy cold rain— Rain. And the smell of lilacs. Bella.

Carlisle frowned, struggling to remember more. He had a distinct image of Bella and her giant of a servant,

Hamish, standing over him in the rain.

Other images followed. Bella and Hamish and…Father MacCanney? In a church? Carlisle had a vivid

impression of the taste of whiskey, bright and burning, and the deep green of Bella's eyes. Eyes he'd

thought he'd managed to forget.

Apparently not.

He rolled to one side and sat upright, wincing at the shrill sunlight coming through a crack in the curtains.

What a strange, oddly disturbing dream. Perhaps it would teach him not to drink more whiskey than God

intended a man to have in a single sitting.

Carlisle swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his stockinged feet finding the cold floor. Bloody hell, it

looked as if they'd built this tavern on a ship, the way the room was rocking back and forth. He carefully

stood, gripping the bedpost tightly.

Where the hell was he? The chamber was appointed in the finest of two-decades-old fashion, carefully

preserved but well worn. There was a large oak wardrobe and a marble-topped table holding a bowl

and pitcher and a neatly folded towel, flanked by a sturdy but threadbare upholstered chair. The scent of

lemon and wax tickled his nose; the floor and woodwork were scrubbed and shiny, even in the dim light.

No tavern sported such cleanliness. Where was he, then? He leaned against the bedpost, his forehead

resting on the thick, worn blue velvet draperies, his gaze dropping to his knee. The breeches he wore

weren't his. He looked at his shirt and found that it, too, belonged to someone else. He'd never

possessed a shirt with such silly lacings on the sleeves. The only familiar things in the room were his

boots, which sat in one corner, cleaned and neatly shined. But why? Why was he here, and wearing

someone else's clothes?

A rustle sounded in the passageway outside the door, then the brass handle turned and the door swung

open. The bright light from the hallway outlined the figure of a woman. Small and curvy, she presented an

intriguingly vague picture.

Carlisle knew her instantly. Knew her from the scent of lilacs that permeated the room. Knew her from the

curve of her cheek where the light caressed it. Knew her from the graceful way she held the door. Knew

her from the way his loins leapt at the sight of her.

It hadn't been a dream, after all. "Bella Swan," he said, his voice rusty and deep. "What is all this?"

She closed the door and walked forward, the beam of sunlight from the window sparkling on her hair.

Carlisle's jaw tightened. It had been fifteen years since he'd last seen her. Her eyes were greener than he

remembered, her lashes casting mysterious shadows over them. The sunlight burnished her rich chestnut

hair gold, and framed her delicately shaped face. He'd thought he'd forgotten her, but this moment

proved otherwise: he remembered everything.

Her lips were plump and lush. Her nose was short and sprinkled with freckles. She was also more

Her lips were plump and lush. Her nose was short and sprinkled with freckles. She was also more

Carlisle had avoided such women in London. Prim, proper misses you dared not talk to for fear of ending

up leg-shackled. He'd learned to avoid such obviously dangerous women from this very one.

Bella wet her lips nervously, drawing an instant response from his loins again. "Cullen, I am sorry

about this."

Low and husky, her voice sent a shocking quiver of heat through him. "Where the hell am I?"

"My brothers' hunting lodge. I dared not take you to Castle Swan. Especially now."

Damn it all, his head was splitting, and she was speaking in riddles. Carlisle took a step forward, but the world immediately swayed to one side, then the other, his stomach roiling right along with it. Tight-lipped,

he gripped the bedpost again.

Her green gaze flickered from him to the door, then back, her eyes shadowed by long, sable lashes. She

'd always had the most intriguing eyes—large and lushly lashed and slanted ever so slightly at the corners,

accented by fly-away brows. They were exotic, those quick slashes of impudent brows and seductive

eyes, on a face that was otherwise angelic.

Of course, he knew otherwise. "Bella, why am I here?"

A flicker of uncertainty touched her face. "You…you don't remember?"

"Remember what? I was riding home and—" Bits of memory returned in a painful rush. He'd left

Lucinda's house because her husband had returned. The ride in the woods. The sudden rain. The lilac

scent. Darkness, followed by the church, and Father MacCanney telling Carlisle to—He gripped the

bedpost tighter. "We'remarried ?"

She paled slightly but did not deny it.

Bloody hell, it hadn't been a dream at all! The room tilted, and he swayed unsteadily.

Bella started forward, but he waved her off as he sank onto the edge of the bed. "Do not touch me, witch."

The last word quivered in the room. Her eyes flashed, her lips compressing dangerously. "I am not a witch."

"I know otherwise," he growled.

"If you are speaking of the Swan curse, then yes, I am capable of some"—she gestured vaguely—

"activities."

"You can make it rain." He snorted. "You just can't make it stop."

She colored a bit, the cream of her cheeks bright pink.

What a coil. He'd been captured and forced to wed a woman cursed with the ability to make clouds

gather and rain fall, cursed like all in her family.

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "None of that has anything to do with why you are here. Why we are married."

couldn't wrap his pained head around the thought. "It cannot be binding."

"Yes, it is. I—I made certain it would be." Some of his fury must have been evident, for she put out a placating hand. "Please, Carlisle. I only did what I had to do. I had no choice."

He stood and took a step toward her, every fiber of his body pulsing with anger. "You had no

choice?You were not the one who was dragged to the altar unconscious!" She had stolen his freedom from him. She, of all people.

She stepped away, her back near the wall. "Carlisle, I am truly sorry. I only did what I had to."

"Hadto? What was so urgent that you felt such a thing was necessary?"

"I had to stop the feud. Our families are at risk."

"Are you crazed? That argument is as old as the mountains."

"Not anymore." Her eyes flickered with a flash of emotion deep within. "Carlisle, surely you know about Edward?"

He paused. "Your brother?"

"Yes. He was my youngest." Her voice caught on the last word, her lip quivering.

Carlisle blinked. "Was? Bella, what happened?"

"There was a fight in a tavern a week ago. Your half brother Eric fought Edward. Edward died. Surely you knew—" She broke off, her expression uncertain.

"The last time I saw anyone in my family was five years ago, at my grandfather's funeral." They'd been none too happy to see him, either, especially after they'd discovered that his grandfather had left his

entire fortune to Carlisle. "I have not seen Eric or anyone since."

"Eric and Edward met in a tavern. They had an argument. Blows were exchanged. Edward died."

He frowned, unable to look away from her tear-bright gaze. "I didn't know."

"Your family says it was a simple brawl, that Edward's death was an accident. But my brothers do not believe him."

The sharpness of her voice told him it wasn't only her brothers who believed Eric's guilt.

Carlisle had been born almost a decade before either of his half-brothers. By the time he'd been fifteen, he and his stepfather had already reached the nadir of their relationship, a fistfight that had left them

bloodied, bruised, and too angry ever to live under the same roof again.

"None of this has anything to do with me," he said.

She paled, her lips tight. "Edward is dead. Do you understand that?"

"Talk to Eric," he said harshly. "This has nothing to do with me."

She grabbed his arm, her fingers pressing through his linen shirt. "Someone killed my brother."

He looked down at her for a long time, noting the tension around her mouth, the tiredness around her

eyes. She was exhausted. The realization sent a quiver of something through him, a faint sense

of…worry? Regret?

He pulled his arm free. "You have the wrong Cullen. You should have captured Eric or Angus,

someone other than me."

Her eyes blazed. "How can you say that?"

"I do not concern myself with my family, nor they with me. I never have. Why would I begin now?" He

could still remember the day he'd left his house. Stiff with anger and pride, he'd hoped one of them—his

mother or stepfather or even one of his little brothers—would ask him to stay, beg him not to leave.

Instead, there was an air of palpable relief. In the months following, the lack of further communication

had cemented the fact all the more—they didn't care and never had.

Carlisle had decided that he didn't care, either. He had a decent income, provided by his mother's brother,

and he'd rented rooms in the fashionable part of town. He fell all too easily into a life of ease as he

gambled, gamed, chased women, drank to excess, and learned to treasure the one and only thing that

was truly his own: his freedom.

By the time he was nineteen, he had a reputation as a hardened libertine and an inveterate gambler. He

was also known for his outrageous good luck. Fortune, it seemed, really did smile upon those less lucky

in areas of the heart. Until, at the age of twenty-two, on one of his sporadic jaunts to his homeland to run

his hunters through the moors, he'd met Bella Swan. He would not become entangled again. "I will

not be involved in this, Swan. Find yourself another."

She lifted her chin, her eyes blazing up at him. "It's too late, Carlisle."

"I refuse to believe that."

Her brows rose. "Do you think me a fool? That I would go to this much trouble for something that could

be undone so easily? Our marriage will stand, Cullen. It will stand forever."

Carlisle stared at Bella, a sinking sensation in his stomach. Was she right? Was there no setting this union

aside?

Damn it all, how had this happened? And why with the one woman he hadn't been able to resist?

She'd reluctantly agreed. He'd made arrangements, bought a carriage and six, and waited for her at the

assigned location. Night had drawn, but she had not come. In her place had arrived a thunderstorm like

none he'd ever witnessed, along with two of her brothers. Gregor and Alexander had brutally informed

him that their sister had changed her mind.

Carlisle had thought they were lying, until they'd given him the letter she'd written.

Dear Carlisle, I cannot do this. Please leave and do not look for me again. My feelings for you are not what

they should be. I am sorry if you believed otherwise. Sincerely, Bella.

His jaw tightened at the memory. He'd been left with nothing to do but turn the carriage and ride away,

humiliated and furious.

Damn it all, he'd known better than to put his faith in something as fickle as emotion, yet he'd been unable to resist.

It was a mistake he never made again. Emotion was to be sipped and savored briefly, like champagne,

before it went flat.

"I refuse to believe this marriage will stand."

Her jaw firmed, her eyes narrowing. "I made certain it would. With you as a member of the family, my brothers will halt their quest for blood."

"I know your brothers. It would take more than a mere marriage to keep them at bay."

She dropped her gaze. "Perhaps."

Carlisle tensed, his gaze narrowing. "Perhaps?"

She shrugged and began to turn away.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her back around. "Explain yourself."

"No! Not while you're holding me so!"

"You bloody witch," he snapped. In two short steps, he had her trapped between his body and the wall,

the warmth of her skin seeping through her pelisse. For some reason, that only angered him more.

"Whatever it is that you've done, you will undo. I willnot be married. Not now, not ever!" He lowered

his face until their eyes were even. "I will not give up my freedom, and I don't give a damn about Edward

or my brothers or anyone else."

There was a moment of shocked silence. Bella might pretend to be brave, but he could see from the

way her lips trembled and her chest rose and fell with her short breaths that she was frightened.

"I will not undo anything," she said in a low, breathy voice. "We are married. We will stay that way."

She did not look away, though her lips whitened. "Let me go, Cullen."

"No."

She struggled, kicking back against the wall. "Let me go, now!"

"No. Not until you—"

The door to the room slammed open and Hamish stalked in. Red-haired and red-eyed, he looked like a fiery angel seeking vengeance.

"Bloody hell," Carlisle muttered. He released Bella and turned to stand before her. "Hamish. What a

pleasant surprise."

Hamish's red brows lowered as he glanced from Carlisle to Bella, then back. "What's goin' on here?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Carlisle said.

"I am pledged to watch the mistress. If ye lift a hand to her again, I'll end yer miserable life."

"Did you have anything to do with this damned marriage?" Carlisle felt his head, wincing when his fingers brushed a sore knot. "I've a feeling you assisted her far more than was necessary."

"I wish I'd given ye that knob, but I didn't. Ye fell from yer horse and smacked yer head." Hamish flexed his hand, the size of a large rock. "Had it been me, ye wouldn't be awake now."

"Hamish." Bella stepped around Carlisle. "There was no need for you to intrude."

"I heard ye call out."

"I fell against the wall."

"Baldercock," Carlisle said rudely. "I pushed you."

Hamish's huge hands balled into fists. He started forward, but Carlisle was ready. He lifted a foot and sent

the lone chair flying directly in the path of the big Scotsman.

Hamish grabbed the chair and threw it to one side, where it smashed against the wall and splintered into a dozen pieces.

Carlisle raised his fists and—

Bella shoved him back, the edge of the bed catching him behind the knees and sending him thudding to the mattress. The distant rumble of thunder echoed.

"That is enough!" Bella snapped, her eyes sparkling with anger. "Hamish, leave us! Cullen and I must

speak."

"If I need you, I will call," Bella said firmly.

The Scotsman didn't look convinced. "I don't—"

"Hamish," she said in a quiet tone. "Go."

Carlisle raised his brows, distracted from his own irritation by the strength of the rebuke in her voice.

Hamish must have heard it as well, for he flushed a deep red, then turned to the door. "I will be in the

hallway." He paused to lock gazes with Carlisle. "I can be back in here in a trice."

Bella nodded. "That won't be necessary."

The Scotsman grunted his disbelief but obediently left, closing the door behind him.

Bella had changed, after all. There was some steel to her now, a determination he'd never seen before.

For some reason, that made him more uneasy than facing Hamish.

Still, Bella Swan was responsible for this mess. Carlisle did not deserve to be punished for the sins of

his less-than-loving family. Hell, he didn't deserve any of this. Jaw tight, he turned to his enemy. "Bella, I

will never accept this marriage."

Bella fought to hold on to her tenuous control. She'd known Carlisle would be angry, but nothing had

prepared her for the rage burning in his gaze. Her shoulders still ached where he'd gripped them, and she

shivered from the cold fury in his face. "Carlisle, please. You must accept this."

"Why?"

Slowly, she placed her hand upon her stomach. "Because I have told everyone I am carrying your child."

He stepped back. "You didwhat ?"

"I sent word to both of our families that I was with child and that was why we'd married."

He blinked.

"That's the only reason Father MacCanney agreed to wed us. He thought I was carrying your child."

"You bloodybitch. "

She winced. She deserved that, she supposed. "Cullen, I would not have involved you if I'd had any other choice. The feud—"

"The feud is nothing more than squabbles over boundary lines and livestock."

"No, now it's different. Edward died. If something is not done, and quickly, neither of us will have a

moment's peace for the rest of our lives. We'll be too busy tending graves to enjoy anything."

She thought of her brothers' expressions when she'd last seen them—the hatred and anger. "Yes," she

said, her voice barely audible. "They will seek vengeance. And they will succeed. Then their actions will

be answered. If not by your father, then a cousin or an ally. You know how it is done."

He nodded abruptly. "Aye. I do know." Carlisle raked a hand through his hair, wincing when he touched a

tender spot over one ear. "And so it will begin." He crossed to the window. "Does my father know of all

this? Of your brothers' vow for vengeance?"

"I wrote to him and told him everything."

He turned, his face in the shadows. "You told him that you planned to capture me? To force me to marry?"

She bit her lip. "Not that part, no."

"Of course not."

She sighed, her knees a little weak. It had been such a long week, filled with sadness and emotion. "I told my brothers the same thing: that I was with child and you were the father."

Carlisle leaned a shoulder against the bedpost and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Who is the

father, Bella? I should know, in case the bastard arrives to take retribution."

Her cheeks burned. "There is no child. I mean, not yet. I haven't been with anyone since you and I—"

She bit her lip. Blast it, she hadn't meant to tell him that.

His expression shuttered. "I don't believe you."

"It doesn't matter what you believe. What matters is that—" She crossed the few steps that separated them. "Carlisle, you were right in what you said before: just getting married won't stop the feud."

He scowled, his clear blue eyes locking with hers. "Then what will?"

Lord, he was going to force her to say it. "To end this feud once and for all, we must also have a child.

And soon."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The worst part of a Swan is that when they think they're right, they usually are. 'Tis a most annoyin'

habit, and I feel a bit of pity for the lads and lassies who marry into such a prideful clan.

Disbelief warred with shock on Carlisle's face. "You are crazed if you think I will agree to that!"

Carlisle's hard blue gaze glinted down at her, deep white lines beside his mouth. "Speak for yourself. I have

many choices."

"No, you don't. Our families are on the brink of disaster." Suddenly, the urgent words locked in her

throat as a lost thought quivered in her brain:I am going to fail.

It was all too much. Edward's death, her brothers' anger and their determined plans, abducting Carlisle,

Father MacCanney's reluctance, the hurried marriage, Carlisle's own fury…Every strained moment of the

last week dropped upon her shoulders in a silentwhoosh.

Tears filled her eyes. She clenched her fists, swallowed a sob, and pressed her fingernails to the tender

flesh of her palms, hoping the tears would fade.

But the sob grew. She gulped hard in an effort to control it, but with a hiccup, her hold on her emotions

cracked, slipped, then shattered. An entire week's worth of pent-up emotions and deep grief broke free,

swamping her in pounding waves.

She dropped her face into her hands and let the sobs flow, unable to stop the torrent. She cried and

cried. She missed Edward so much. He'd been her friend and confidant, understanding her better than

anyone else in her family. And now he was gone.

Gone.

Sobs racked her body, draining her strength as tears fell from between her fingers. Grief, anger, pain, all

of it rolled through her, wave after wave.

A warm hand closed over her wrists, and she was unceremoniously hauled against a broad chest. "Stop

it," Carlisle whispered, his cheek against her hair, his voice soft. "I hate it when women cry."

Bella cried harder. She didn't want to do this in front of him, but now that the tears had begun, she

couldn't stop them. In trying to keep her brothers' fury from exploding and destroying them all, she hadn'

t allowed herself to grieve for Edward. Now the future stretched before her, bleak and cold and lonely

without him.

The sobs came harder and harder still, until she thought her heart might break.

"Bella," Carlisle said, his voice deeper. "You cannot—Oh, blast it all!" He sank his hand into her hair and

pressed her face to his chest, holding her tight. "Easy, lass."

She buried her face against him and let the tears fall. She was no gilded miss who'd been sheltered from

reality; she'd had her share of loss. But this time, life seemed brutal beyond , I miss

you.

"Lassie, that's enough," Carlisle said, his voice resonating against Bella's ear. "We will deal with this."

We?Bella's heart clutched at the word, a faint ray of hope warming her. The thought that she might not

be alone, that maybe Carlisle might find a way out of this mess, slowed the flow of her tears bit by bit.

Yet, though her crying lessened, Bella didn't move. She drank in the strength of Carlisle's embrace, the

warmth of his body. Her pain began to ease. Finally, her tears ceased, her body racked now by a deep

hiccup.

"So—so—do I." She gulped.

He sighed, his breath stirring the tendrils at her temples. "I am sorry about Edward."

The tenderness in Carlisle's voice brought more tears to her eyes. She was a mess; red eyes, wet cheeks, and embarrassing hiccups. Suddenly self-conscious, she attempted to step out of Carlisle's arms. "I need a

handkerchief."

Carlisle's embrace tightened, his hand rubbing up and down her back with comforting strokes. "I would give you my handkerchief, but someone has taken mine."

Bella gave a watery chuckle. "I had Hamish change your clothes. You were wet, and I did not wish you

to catch the ague."

"How thoughtful of you. Not many men who've been abducted and stripped can say they were so well tended."

She smiled against his damp shirt, her head resting on his muscled chest. Her ragged breaths gradually

evened out, and a soft, intimate silence enveloped them.

The steady beating of his heart, mixed with the scent of starch from his shirt, calmed her somehow. The

rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek warmed her from head to toe, and she gave a contented sigh.

Carlisle bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Bella's breath hung in her throat. The kiss was chaste, almost innocent, and incredibly intimate.

"You've been through hell, haven't you, love?"

He'd called her "love." Not "my love," but just "love." She wondered how many women he'd called that, and how many had felt their hearts flutter the way hers had.

Though she'd wept against his shirt and basked in the comfort of his arms, the truth was that Carlisle

Cullen would have treated any other woman who'd melted into a weeping mass the same way. As he

said, he couldn't stand to see a woman cry.

Bella stepped out of Carlisle's protective arms into the cold of the room, reaching for a towel from the

washstand.

She mopped her eyes, then blushed. "I didn't mean to soak your shirt."

He glanced down at the large wet spot on his chest, a wry smile softening the hard line of his mouth. "I

don't know whose shirt this is, but you can take it up with them."

"It's Dougal's."

"Dougal's? There'slace on the cuffs. Your brother would never wearlace. "

She gave a watery chuckle. "Dougal is a dandy now. You wouldn't believe how all-the-crack he has become."

Carlisle looked down at her for a moment, his eyes dark and unfathomable. He reached out and twined a

tendril of her hair about his finger. "This is a pretty mess."

"I know," she said, wishing she could just disappear. Her hair was falling about her, and her nose was

pink from crying. "This entire week has been a nightmare."

"I am sure it has." He pursed his lips as he considered her. "Only desperation would have made you

think of this harebrained plan."

She stiffened. "My plan may have its faults, but I thought this through.I have thought of nothing else for a week, night and day."

"There must be another way," he insisted. "Why didn't you tell someone of your brothers' plans?

Someone who could stop them?"

"Who? Carlisle, my brothers can turn someone into a cinder merely by losing their tempers. Who would dare face them?"

"One of my brothers didn't seem to have any problem doing just that," he retorted grimly.

She stiffened, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Carlisle winced at her expression. "I didn't mean to be coarse. It's just that, though some believe your family can make it rain—"

"And lightning. And hail. Don't pretend you don't believe in the curse. I know you do."

He shrugged, careful not to meet her gaze. "It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is how to calm tempers so we can return to a normal life. When you discovered your brothers were planning ill, you should have told someone."

"Oh? And who would have been able to turn their plans to good? Your father, perhaps? The man who

said he'd kill any Swan who came within sight of the property gate?"

Carlisle frowned. "He said that?"

"Your stepfather is not a temperate man. Besides, if I had exposed my brothers' plan, they would have merely thought up another and made certain I didn't know of it."

He rubbed his neck. "You tried to talk them out of it?"

"Of course!"

"You pointed out the consequences and—"

"Cullen, I thought of all of this. There is no other way but this one."

He regarded her for a while, his gaze never moving.

Her shoulders slumped a bit. Perhaps hewould find a way out of this, a way she hadn't yet found.

Perhaps he would see some path she'd missed, some—

"Damn it to hell." He turned and walked to the end of the bed, leaning against the bedpost. "What a

muddle." He raked a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers brushed his bruise again. "Your brothers are as hotheaded as my own, if not worse."

She stiffened. "My brothers have reason for their anger."

"Not enough to justify planning a murder."

"Carlisle, I do not condone their plan, but you do not know what we've been through."

"Bella, don't—"

"No! Don'tyou !" Her hands fisted at her sides, rage giving her the energy she'd lost. Outside, a shadow passed over the sun and a sudden wind blasted across the window, rattling the shutters. "Edward is gone, rotting under six feet of dirt. We are angry, we are all angry!" She pointed a finger and stabbed it into his

chest. "Do you know how much I hate all of this? I hate having to see you again in such circumstances. I

hate having to lie to my family and Father MacCanney. And I hate that I am forced to marry the worst

possible man on earth!"

The words rang in the room, clear and stark.

Carlisle stared at her, his blue gaze so dark it appeared black. "You already regret marrying me."

"Just as much as you regret being married to me."

"We are agreed in one thing, then: we are not suited."

"We never were," she returned hotly.

"Then you will also agree that bringing an unwanted child into the world will not solve anything."

"Our child would not be unwanted! I will take good care of him, and gladly."

His gaze narrowed. "It is not as easy as that. Having a child is a serious proposition." His lips twisted.

"Even I am aware of that."

"I didn't mean to suggest otherwise," she said stiffly.

"But a man you have deemed unworthy of marriage could not possibly be a good father."

Her cheeks heated. "Carlisle, don't—"

"No, we will speak the truth. How is this child going to feel, knowing he was conceived only to stop a stupid feud?"

"Those things have a way of making themselves known."

He was right. She clenched and unclenched her hands. Finally, unable to think of a retort, she said in a

sour voice, "I cannot believe you even care about such a thing."

His expression grew grimmer. "Your opinion of me could not be lower, could it? To you, I am just

Black Carlisle Cullen, the man with no heart."

"No, no," she said, regretting her words. "I didn't mean—"

He threw up a hand. "Forget it. I shouldn't be surprised. There is really no reason for you to believe

otherwise." He turned from her and stalked to the window. The pale afternoon sun lit the planes of his

face, his auburn hair a slash of color against the deep blue curtains, his body rigid with anger. "What a

damnable mess."

Bella shivered a bit in the chill of the bedchamber. She thought longingly of the warmth she'd felt tucked

against Carlisle, of the way his hard chest muscles had pillowed her cheek, of the way his scent had tickled

her nose. A slow heat began to warm her, beginning down low and moving higher, a deep tug of

attraction, rich and sweet.

Heaven help her, she waslusting. The realization sent a flood of heat to her cheeks. "If our families think I

am already with child, they will have to halt their animosity, which will give us some time to—" She

closed her mouth. Heavens, how would she finishthat sentence?

His gaze narrowed. "Time to what?"

"Time to—to—to—"Dear Lord, please open the earth and swallow me whole! How had she let her

tongue get her into such a fix? "You know what I mean."

"No," he said slowly. "Explain yourself."

"You know what I meant!" Bella snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "While it will not be

pleasant for us—"

"Speak for yourself." An unexpected smile twisted his lips. "Making the child is the only good part of

this plan. If you remember anything, you should remember that."

Oh, God, she did remember. She remembered every sweet, delicious, breath-gasping moment. Slowly,

she nodded.

His gaze traveled over her, hot and possessive, leaving a sizzling trail. "I'd take you here and now, if it

suited you and we had the time."

Bella's gaze flickered to the bed, then back, a delicious shiver feathering over her skin. She imagined

them there, legs twined, hearts pounding as he—

No. She had to stay focused. She could not become distracted by such things.

"Bella?" His gaze rested on her mouth.

"Y-yes?" Her lips tingled as if he'd touched them.

"You said you'd notified your brothers that we are married?"

"Yes. I sent a note to both my family and yours."

Carlisle sighed. "I was afraid of that. Your brothers will arrive soon."

She shrugged. "I suppose so."

"Wonderful," Carlisle muttered. He stalked to the window, then back, pausing before her. "How did we get here?"

"In my carriage."

He turned on his heel and went back to the window, pushing aside the curtain to peer outside. "It's getting cloudy and the wind is picking up."

Bella sighed. "That was me, I fear. You have sorely tried my patience."

"As you have mine." He released the curtain. "I am not going to wait for your brothers to get close enough to open the skies."

Bella wished she could ask Carlisle for reassurance that everything would be fine, but such luxuries were

for real marriages. The thought made her shoulders sag.

"The carriage is away from the front door, which is good." Carlisle yanked the latch up and pushed the window wide. Fresh air blew into the room, lifting the curtain and shaking the tassled ties.

"Carlisle?" she asked, bemused. "Why does it matter if the carriage is near the door or not?"

Securing the curtains to either side, he turned and walked back to her, then bent and swept her into his arms as easily as if she were a feather pillow.

Bella grabbed him around the neck and held on tightly. "Wh-what are you doing?"

He grinned, all dark auburn hair and deep blue eyes, and her heart skipped a beat.

"Cullen, this is not funny! Put me down now."

"No, love. You've planned things this far; now it's my turn."

"Your turn?"

He shook his head. "You always were a bit on the bossy side. Probably because of all those brothers of yours."

She gasped. "Bossy? I amnot bossy."

"Hmph. Your brothers certainly used to think so." He turned toward the window. "It's time you stopped

orchestrating the lives of everyone you know."

He glinted down at her. "No? Look at you now, getting married to save your brothers from a mess of

their own making."

"This is an emergency."

"I know, I know. Lives are at stake. I understand. But you are not allowing your brothers to find their own answers; instead you're attempting to manipulate them toyour outcome." He sat on the windowsill.

"I call that bossy."

"I call it necessity."

"Whatever you call it, it's time someone else was in charge."

She squirmed, but his arms merely tightened. "Cullen, put me down this instant! Hamish is not going to like this!"

"Good." Carlisle swung one foot across the windowsill, then the other, then he was standing in the

shrubbery. He grinned at her. "Hamish is not invited."

She stilled a moment, as caught by his smile as by his words. "Invited where?"

"On our honeymoon." Carlisle walked across the lawn to the carriage, his muscles rippling as Bella clung to him. "We're going to London."

"But I thought we'd live at my house!"

"With your brothers?" Carlisle scoffed. "The ones who've sworn to kill every Cullen they find? I think not."

"But—"

"My lady?"

It was Simon, the footman.

"Oh, ah, Simon," Bella said, wondering desperately what she should say.

"Simon, good man," Carlisle said smoothly. "Good news! Your mistress and I were married this morning."

"Wh—you—the mistress—" Simon looked from Carlisle to Bella, then back.

Carlisle nuzzled Bella's cheek. "Tell him, love."

Bella barely managed a smile through the shivers from his cheek against hers. "It is true. We are married."

Carlisle quirked a brow at the footman. "So open the carriage door; we've no time to waste."

"And hurry, before I drop your mistress," Carlisle continued, walking briskly past the astounded footman.

"She may not have much height to her, but she's an armful."

"Carlisle!" Bella protested.

Simon scurried to the coach and threw open the door.

"Thank you," Carlisle said, tucking Bella inside, then settling close beside her on the leather seat. "To London."

"London?" Simon squeaked. "But that's a long way—"

"London," Carlisle repeated in a voice that brooked no argument. "We'll stop along the way to change the

horses. I have some boarded on the London Road."

"Aye, my lord, but—"

"Now." The word dripped with rebuke.

Simon flushed, then bowed and closed the door.

Almost immediately, the carriage began rocking over the uneven road. Bella sent a sidelong glance at

Carlisle, noting the hard set to his jaw.

This was it. She'd married Carlisle Cullen and won his reluctant agreement to support her plan. Now she'

d have to pay the price for that agreement.

London,her bemused mind thought. Her family was left behind. Her friends and the servants she knew

and trusted.

In London, there would be no one. No one but her…and Carlisle.

Good God. What have I done?


	5. AN

AN

thank you all who have added me to there fav list or alert list so far i have had 6 please review and the chapters will come quicker

since the school haildays

xxx

edward'me


	6. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Of course, pride and strength are not always bad. If ye're ever in a fight, ye want a couple of Swans

with ye in case things go from bad to worse. If there's one word they dinna know, 'tis the word "cease."

The trip to London was long and tortuous. Though the carriage was of good quality—Alexander would

have nothing less for his sister—it still swayed and bumped over the roads because of the speed Carlisle

insisted upon.

Bella, heart weary, fell into a deep sleep after the first few hours. The next two days passed in a blur.

Every time the carriage stopped to change the horses, Carlisle would rouse her and escort her inside. There,

she'd blearily partake of the inn's fare, then they'd be off, the carriage careening madly toward London.

Bella lifted her head, blinking into the dark as she surfaced to awareness.

Slowly, she realized she was in her carriage, snuggled in a corner, her cheek resting against…a

waistcoat.

Bella bolted upright.

Carlisle. The marriage. London.

Oh, God. She swallowed, painfully aware that her thigh was intimately pressed against his.

She had been sleeping against him. She scooted to one side, pressing her hands to her face.

"What's wrong, love?" Carlisle's voice rumbled through her. "Am I not soft enough?"

Bella closed her eyes a , please, don't let me have drooled.

There was a spark and a flash, followed by a faint hiss, as Carlisle lit one of the lanterns that hung in the far corner.

A warm golden glow suffused the coach and lit Carlisle's auburn hair to a deep, rich brown as he settled

back in his seat, his leg once more against hers.

Bella's gaze flickered over his clothing. Thank goodness no splotch of drool marred his waistcoat.

Relieved, she smoothed her hair, pins scattering here and there, wisps of curls tickling her hands. "Look at my hair!" She caught Carlisle's amused gaze and flushed. "I must look a mess."

His eyes, almost black in the lantern light, raked over her, and a faint smile touched his lips. "You look like a woman just roused from a very well-used bed."

Bella had an instant image of herself and Carlisle, unclothed, their bodies entwined, memories she'd

thought long dead.

She bit her lip, hoping the pain might drive out the thoughts.

"Don't attempt to seduce me with that look."

Her look was seductive? She lifted the edge of the curtain and regarded her face reflected in the window. "I don't look seductive at all. I just look—Oh, blast! My hair!" Two large curls poked up in the

back, giving her a faintly devilish look. "Why didn't you tell me I had horns?"

"Perhaps I like women with horns." He crossed his arms over his chest, looking handsome and wolfish.

She tried to smooth her curls. "So you like horns? It'sso tempting to make a comment about you and

livestock."

He burst into reluctant laughter. "B'god, you are a fresh one."

"I always was." She gave her hair a final pat. "How is my hair?"

His dark gaze flickered over her hair, then lower.

"I meant the hair on my head!"

Carlisle's lips quirked in a smile, and he shrugged. "I won't apologize for being a man."

"You should apologize for being arude man." She folded her hands in her lap. "What did you mean when you said I was giving you 'that look'?"

"I find it very erotic when a woman bites her bottom lip."

"You must be teasing," she exclaimed.

The blue of his eyes deepened. "Youare an innocent, aren't you?"

Her cheeks heated. "You, of all men, know that is not true."

"There are many kinds of innocents, Bella."

She shrugged. "I have no regrets about our previous relationship, except that it did not end as it should have."

"That was not my fault."

"Yes, it was. You were not ready to settle down."

"I offered to marry you! I waited for you, but you didn't come. Instead, you sent your brothers with a damn note and—"

"You still had a mistress."

Silence met this. Carlisle's expression darkened. "I do not see what that has to do with anything. Many men have mistresses. I wished to marry you , Bella. That was what should have mattered."

An odd flicker of hurt burned through her. "Our values are quite different. I would not have countenanced my husband having a mistress."

He shrugged. "Perhaps I would have given her up had you asked. We'll never know, will we?"

"Do you have one now?" The question was out before she could recall it.

His lips tightened. "That is none of your concern."

Bella realized that her hands were clenched into fists, and she forced her fingers to relax. It was her concern. She could not accept a marriage that was othewise. And therein lay the only flaw in her plan:

she'd married the one man she could not cajole, control, or persuade.

She regarded him from beneath her lashes. Every line of his body spelled defiance. From the way he

planted his feet on the floor of the carriage, to the way his arms were crossed over his chest, to the proud

tilt of his head, he was informing her without words that she had not won this battle. That she may, in fact,

lose.

"Not for long. The second I reach London, I will see what can be done with this mess."

Bella shot him a look from beneath her lashes. "The marriage cannot be set aside. I have already told you that."

Carlisle quirked a brow at her. "You aren't always right."

"I know that," she said with some asperity, "but even you must admit that I am right more often than not."

He smiled suddenly, a spontaneous, lopsided grin that stole Bella's breath. "You haven't changed a

bit."

If there was one danger in her current plan, it was that she might succumb to Carlisle's attractions. Then

there would be nothing but heartbreak, and she'd already had enough of that.

"You are biting your lip again." His eyes glinted. "I am going to tell you why that gesture is so erotic, but I warn you, it's quite reprehensible."

"Anything that involves you tends in that direction."

His lips twitched, but he replied easily enough, "When you bite your lip, it makes me think of all the other things you could do with your mouth."

"Oh." Like eat and kiss and—"Oh." Her cheeks burned, yet she was also a bit intrigued. Carlisle had

always had that effect on her. He could embarrass and tantalize all in the same breath.

But perhaps this was useful information. The time might come when she'd need to seduce him—

especially if he proved recalcitrant about performing his "husbandly duties" once they reached London.

Which he might be, if he had a mistress. Bella pressed her lips together to keep from scowling. She had

never been very good at sharing her things, and she was certain she'd be quite possessive about a

husband.

"You have lost some of your pins." Carlisle picked up two from the folds of her gown and held them out to

her. "Your hair is so long. Longer than the last time I saw you."

"It's almost to my waist." She made a face. "I have thought of getting it cut."

"I love a woman with long hair."

"You love all women, long hair or no." She sniffed, tackling an unruly curl near her temple.

He sent her a roguish wink. "At this moment, I especially love women with long brown hair and green

eyes."

"Oh, just stop it."

"Stop flirting. With you, every sentence is an offer."

He leaned back against the squabs, his thigh sliding over to press against hers. "And with you, every sentence is a challenge."

She didn't know how to answer that. If she replied, it would confirm his comment. If she didn't say a

word, she left a wealth of sharp retorts unsaid.

He flipped up one corner of the leather curtain and glanced briefly out into the racing darkness. "We're

entering London. It's almost two in the morning." He settled back in his corner, his leg moving against

hers once more. "I like traveling fast."

She glanced to her other side. It would be cold to lean all the way into the corner, for the night air was

seeping from every seam. She supposed she would have to accept his leg against hers. At least there was

a good deal of clothing between them—her chemise, petticoats, gown, and cloak. Carlisle was wearing

breeches and…She looked at his legs. What else? Could he be naked beneath his breeches? They

seemed molded to him, outlining the powerful lines of his thighs and the swell just above—

Oh, God. She closed her eyes. She'd been looking at his—Not only was it rude, but it had sent an

amazing tingle through her, almost as if she'd touched it.

"Bella, if you ever look at me like that again, I will not be held responsible for what I do." Carlisle was so close that she could feel his breath on her temple. "Do you understand?"

Bella managed a jerky nod, relieved when he moved back.

Carlisle from a distance she could deal with. Carlisle in the close carriage, his thigh a mere inch from hers…the

memories were too bright, too raw. She'd been young and impetuous, and fortunate that nothing more

had come of their brief liaison than some uncomfortably vivid memories.

She cleared her throat. "I was just remembering us. "

"I think of us, too."

She blinked at him. "I didn't think you would."

He sent her a darkly amused glance. "No? How could I not? You were my first."

"That's impossible. You already had a mistress! Alexander said she wasn't your first one, either."

"So I have your brother to thank for that slip of the tongue, eh? Remind me to thank him properly when

I see him."

"I would have found out anyway."

Carlisle didn't argue. "Yes, but you were special; my first virgin."

Embarrassment flooded through her, and she fixed her gaze on the tips of her half boots where they

peeped out from beneath her skirts. If only she were something as simple as a slipper that did not have

feelings or memories or anything else so uncomfortable.

Bella looked at her hands, the hem of her pelisse, the seat opposite, anywhere but at him. "My goodness, it is certainly warmer here than in the countryside, isn't it?"

"Yes." He stretched out his legs so that his thigh pressed even more firmly against hers. "It is much

warmer."

She snuck a look at him. When had his eyes grown so hard, so intense? Though he did not scowl, his

entire stance still spoke of an undercurrent of bitter anger. Some part of her had hoped that he'd accept

the circumstances of their marriage and not struggle against fate. That had been a vain hope.

She sighed. "When will we arrive?"

"Soon. We stopped to change horses in Barnet, so they're fairly fresh."

"Barnet? I don't remember changing horses there."

"We stopped while you were sleeping. I told your man—"

"He has a name," she said shortly. "It would be more polite if you'd use that rather than calling him 'your man.'"

Carlisle's brows lowered. "You aren't one of those reformer women, are you?"

"The only thing I wish to reform is your poor manners."

Carlisle looked incredulous. "My what?"

"Your poor manners. I daresay you don't know the names of any of your own staff, do you?"

"I haven't the time for such nonsense. There are dozens of them."

"Dozens? How large is your town house?"

"Large enough." He caught her gaze and held up a hand. "Hold. Before you get more out of sorts, let me try to remember that blasted man's name." He frowned. "Seth?"

"Simon."

"Simon, then. He came to the window when we stopped to change the horses. I explained I did not wish

to wake you, so he had the carriage propped up so we could change the horses. Your Simon is quite

ingenious."

"I don't remember any of that."

Bella gasped. "You did not!"

Carlisle's eyes glinted in the low light from the lantern. "No, I did not. But I thought about it." He slipped an

arm about her waist and slid her across the small space between him. "It's not every groom who would

be so understanding of his bride on their wedding night." He cupped her face, his thumb tracing the line of

her cheek. "Fortunately for you, I am a patient man."

An odd flutter danced in Bella's stomach, her skin prickling with goose bumps. He'd always had the

ability to make her bones melt with just a simple touch and a soft word. He was so certain of himself—

while she was filled with uncertainty, an unwelcome experience. For the first time in her life, she did not

know what the future held, and it terrified her.

He feathered his thumb over her lips, his gaze following the movement. "You have the most beautiful

mouth, Bella. So lovely and lush, like a strawberry plucked at just the right time, red and sweet…"

He bent forward and raked his lips softly over hers. It wasn't a kiss; it was more of a promise, a whisper

of what could be.

Bella shivered again, her skin hot, her breasts tight. She should fight this attraction. Fight it and keep her

own emotions well in control. But the last week had been nothingbut control, and she was tired of not

feeling, not touching. She wanted comfort and acceptance and passion. After a week of death, she

wanted to tastelife. To hold it to her, to savor it and revel in it.

She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Carlisle saw the exact moment she gave herself over to the passion that hovered between them. While she'

d slept in his arms, the scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin beckoning to him, he'd had to fight

the desire to touch her, taste her, possess her. It had been along carriage ride. During a rough section of

road, her hand had fallen into his lap, and he'd thought he would explode.

It had always been this way between them. Since their first meeting, something hot and primal had drawn

them together.

Now, finally released, his passion exploded with the touch of her lips to his. He pulled her closer and

nipped her bottom lip, savoring its plumpness.

But he wanted more than a kiss. Far more. He slid his hand up to her breast, cupped her, and ran his

thumb over her nipple, making it harden through the thin material.

Bella gasped, her mouth parting, and Carlisle slid his tongue between her lips. She moaned, pressing

closer, her arms tightening about his neck.

God, but she was sweet. He deepened the kiss, tasting her ripeness as he slid his hands down her back

to her waist, to her hips. She was so lush and full. This was a woman made for love, made for him.

A sudden rocking yanked him back to reality as the carriage stopped.

"Damn it!" he growled. "We've arrived." Carlisle looked down into her eyes. She sat on his lap, her lips

In the meantime, it would cause no harm to remind her who had the upper hand. Let her taste the cost of

being married to a man who didn't wish to be. Jaw clenched, he pulled Bella's pelisse back into place

and smoothed her skirts.

A soft rap sounded on the door.

"Oh, no!" Bella struggled to get off his lap, but Carlisle held her there.

"Carlisle!" she hissed. "Simon will see."

"Then let him." He tightened his hold, his expression grim. "You are my wife now. That gives me the right to hold you whenever I wish."

Bella had the damnedest effect on him, making him possessive and irritated at the same time. It was yet

another reason to end this farce, and quickly.

The carriage door opened, and Simon flushed at seeing Bella in Carlisle's lap.

"The steps," Carlisle ordered.

Simon nodded, his gaze directed at the ground. He let down the stairs, then moved aside.

Carlisle lifted her and stepped out of the carriage, carrying her to the broad steps that rose to the doors of his house.

"Carlisle!" Bella hissed. "Put me down. Your servants will see, too."

"Let them."

Bella wished she dared struggle but feared that would only make their entrance appear more ridiculous.

As Carlisle began to climb the stairs, Bella looked up at her new home. Five stories of stately mansion rose above her head. Heavy molding around the large windows and doors bespoke a quality and craftsmanship that was obvious even in the dim night. "Good God! It's massive!"

Carlisle paused with his foot on the last step. "I do wish you'd keep those comments until we are in bed,

love. I would appreciate them all the more there."

Bella's cheeks heated. "Stop that!"

Carlisle's wicked grin flashed as he stepped onto the portico. The huge doors opened as if by magic.

Within moments, they were inside, the doors closing. Bella had a hurried impression of black and red marble flagstone, rich carpets, and the glitter of a huge chandelier presiding over a foyer elaborate in

gilt-edged side tables and large, golden framed mirrors.

Carlisle walked briskly past a stiff individual who could only be the butler and a stern, gray-haired woman

whose keys proclaimed her the housekeeper. The shadowy figures of at least a dozen footmen blurred in

the background.

"My lord," the butler said as Carlisle walked past. "We didn't know you were returning. There is no fire lit in your chamber. Shall I—"

"No," Carlisle said, taking the stairs two at a time. "That is not necessary." He paused at the top, his gaze

insolently caressing Bella. "Please bring a large breakfast in the morning. Avery large breakfast."

Bella had thought she couldn't get more embarrassed, but she was wrong. Her entire body flushed.

How dare he do such a thing in front of the servants?

He is angry. I knew he would just hadn't expected he'd be so bitter.

Carlisle carried Bella down a long hallway, his footsteps muffled by thick red carpet.

Bella put her irritation behind her. Tomorrow, she'd have Carlisle introduce her to the servants properly,

and all would be set to rights. For now, she wanted to stop thinking. To stop feeling. She yearned for the

delight of losing herself in a large featherbed and fresh sheets.

He opened a large door and carried her inside a huge chamber to a bed that towered at the center of one wall. He paused at the edge of the mattress and looked down at her, his expression inscrutable.

Bella's breath shortened. She was agonizingly aware of the bed beneath her, of Carlisle's arms around her.

This was it; the moment he'd take his rights as her husband. Her body tingled, her breath shortened.

Carlisle lifted her a bit higher and then, without ceremony, tossed her onto the bed.

Bella bounced, gasping as she tried to find some purchase in the sea of covers and pillows. "Carlisle!"

He was already crossing the room to the open door.

She scrambled to her knees, her hair falling about her, her skirts flipped this way and that. "Where are you going?"

"To see my solicitor."

"At this time of the night?"

"For what I pay him, he can drag his lazy arse from bed." His expression was hard. "Meanwhile, you may sleep here. At least for tonight."

Her chest ached as if he'd struck her. "Carlisle, the feud—"

"Will resolve itself, with our help or without it." He opened the door. "Sleep well, wife. This will be the only night you enjoy my bed."

"But you can't just—"

The door slammed, the sound echoing through the high-ceilinged chamber.


	7. AN 2

AN

hey sorry i have not updated its because of exams and i had a collage interview i think it went well dont know yet

and in the mean time look at my fav storys on my profile page there the best

thanks

xxx

edward'me

aka kara


	8. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Bella awoke, aware before she opened her eyes that she was not alone.

Stretching, she turned to her side and saw Carlisle sitting beside the fireplace, the flames casting shadows

over his face. His cravat was untied, his coat thrown across a chair, his shirtsleeves rolled back from

powerful forearms. He held a glass of amber liquid as he gazed unseeingly into the flickering flames.

Bella rolled to one elbow and pushed her hair from her eyes. "Well? What did your solicitor say?"

Carlisle did not even turn to look at her. "You know damn well what he said. It would take an act of

Parliament to get the marriage annulled, unless you agreed to say I'd not touched you." His lips twisted.

"You wouldn't, would you?"

"No."

He never looked away from the fire. The flames cracked and popped, a faint warmth reaching the bed.

Bella was glad for the heat. She'd fumed when he'd left, but the cold of the room had made her seek shelter in the huge bed. She'd taken off her pelisse and attempted to untie her boots, but the laces had

knotted and her cold fingers had been unable to loosen them. She'd finally climbed between the sheets

fully dressed, buried her head in a pillow, and fallen asleep almost immediately. From his chair, Carlisle now regarded her stonily, his glass held tightly in one hand, his gaze hard.

She plucked at the heavily hemmed edge of the sheet. "I daresay you're tired. Perhaps you should sleep

—"

He slammed his glass onto the side table, his blazing glare silencing her. "I don't need anyone to take care of me! I am stuck with this marriage, but I do not have to put up with the mewing of a wife I never wanted!"

Bella gripped the sheet with both hands. "Very well," she said in a reasonably steady voice. "I will never

again inquire after your well-being. But do not think I will accept poor behavior. We can at least be

pleasant to each other until we have the child. After that, I will move back to Scotland."

"And the child?"

She frowned. "He will stay with me."

"Fine. So long as you leave me in peace."

His words should have had no power to wound her, for they were exactly what she expected.

Carlisle stood and pulled off his untied cravat, tossing it to one side. He paused long enough to refill his

glass and take another drink, wavering a bit as he did so.

He was drunk. Bella's heart sank a bit lower. He would come to her bed now and do his duty, and

she…what would she do? Her body and mind seemed strangely divorced, and she dreaded the coming

moments. Dreaded what had once been the most amazing event of her life.

Her memories were deeply colored by their passion, but now it would not be the same. Gone was the

concern, the caring. All that was left was anger and distrust.

he stood before her, naked.

The firelight flickered over his body, tracing the ridges of his chest, caressing the flatness of his stomach, limning the powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders. He was beautiful. She'd forgotten how just the sight of him could warm her with anticipation, even now.

"Why are you still dressed?" he asked harshly.

"I was cold."

His lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. "If we are to make a child, you will have to make

sacrifices."

She managed to nod. "Of course." She reached up and untied her gown, her gaze still fixed upon him.

There was something intent about him, something coiled. His eyes were dark, his body tense, as if he

were about to pounce.

Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, she decided, looking up into his blue, blue eyes and noting the

thick curl of his lashes. He would pounce, and it would feel ever so wonderful. She knew that already.

He was a heartbreaker, exquisitely skilled in bed and ready to take his pleasure by giving it.

She bit her lip to fight a shiver. She wanted to throw her arms around Carlisle and kiss him mindlessly, encourage him to continue with this seduction.

She wanted to put a hand to his cheek and rub her palm over his shadow beard, letting the stubble rasp

against her skin.

She wanted to twine her arms around his neck more tightly and pull his mouth to hers and taste once again that hot, smoky passion that simmered between them.

Oh, God, this is really were alone in his bedroom, they were married, there was nothing stopping

them from consummating their union. Nothing at all.

She gave a nervous glance around. "Ah, this is a lovely room."

His gaze never wavered from her. "Lovely, indeed."

Cheeks hot, Bella tried to find something to distract her unruly thoughts long enough for her to regain control of herself. "It's an exquisite chamber. Is the rug an Aubusson?"

"Yes." Carlisle walked across that very rug toward the bed, his movements fluid and deadly. "The rug is"

"And the clock is—"

"Ormolu." He paused beside the bed. "The chairs are Hepplewhite. The table is a Pembroke, and the painting over the mantel is by Rubens. Anything else you wish to know?"

"You certainly know your furnishings. I don't believe my brothers even notice ours." Bella sent Carlisle a

curious look. "Why do you know the names of all this?"

"Because it is mine."

"And yet…you didn't bother with the name of my footman?"

"Footmen, like all people, come and go. This house will be here as long as I am."

She forced herself not to look at him, standing so beautiful and naked beside the bed. Ah! The picture

above the fireplace. "Th-that is a lovely painting." It depicted a red-haired lady looking into the face of her lover, her expression one of sensual longing. "She's, ah…naked."

"As all beautiful women should be." The bed sagged where he sat on the edge, his hip now against her

leg.

She tried to move away, but the sheets held her in place.

He placed his hand over her knee. Bella sat stock—still, her heart pounding so loudly she wondered if

he could hear it. "Carlisle, perhaps…perhaps we should wait a bit, until—"

"No. You wanted this marriage, Swan. You wanted it so badly you took my freedom to get it. And

now you've got it."

She glared up at him, anger burning away some of her trepidation. "I didn't want to be tossed onto the

bed and—" She tried to calm her quavering voice. "Carlisle, there is no reason we cannot at least proceed

with civility."

"Civility? Was it civil when you had me abducted and dragged to the altar like a sack of potatoes?"

She hated it when he was right. Really,really hated it. She took a deep breath and tried again. "Look,

Carlisle—"

"If I am to do this, then it will be onmy terms."

He gave her no choice. She only wished he would not argue with her while he was naked; it was difficult

to make a coherent point with such a distraction. "What are your terms?"

He leaned forward. "When you are in my home, you will stay in my bed."

She couldn't swallow. Or breathe. Or even make a sound. She could only nod.

"Furthermore," he continued, his gaze traveling down to her lips, "you will do so with appropriate

enthusiasm."

His hand cupped her breast, and Bella jerked, her skin aflame, her breathing ragged as pure lust shot

through her.

He smiled, a satisfied look on his face. "You won't have to pretend with me, love."

Bella wished she could leave, run away as fast as she could and never look back. But if she returned

home without Carlisle, her brothers would be furious. She would never make them believe that she'd

walked away of her own free will; they'd think Carlisle had left her, which would be an unforgivable insult.

She took a deep breath. "Very well. You are right that we cannot do this halfway. We—we must do this

with 'enthusiasm.'"

The fire crackled and popped. Carlisle cupped her chin in his large, warm hand and turned her face to his.

She almost gasped at the burning expression in his eyes; if she was aflame, he was afire. He wanted her,

desired her passionately.

Bella's body quivered with answered need.

He slowly lowered his lips to hers, and Bella was lost in a flood of heat and sensation. Without another

thought, she gave herself over to the passion that Carlisle's kiss stirred.

He felt her body soften into his, and he slid his hands up and down her body, cupping her to him,

pressing his manhood to her.

He burned with lust and passion, seasoned with the faintest hint of anger. Distasteful as it was, marriage

was now his lot in life. But if he had to be married, he might as well get something from it.

He ran his hand down her back to her hip, then her thigh. She moved restlessly, pressing against him, her

mouth seeking his with increasing desperation. "Is this what you want?" he murmured against her lips. He

pressed his hand between her thighs. "Or this?"

She moaned, shuddering with need, and Carlisle's body tightened in response. He wanted her so badly,

ached with a lust that burned so hotly and so deeply, he feared it might destroy them both.

She was fumbling with her gown. "Let me," he said, his voice thick even to his own ears.

She nodded, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from their kiss. He quickly undid the remaining ties. He

wanted to see her naked, her hair spread about her, her arms and legs open for him—him and no one

else.

The thought gave him pause. He was not given to possessiveness; his liaisons were entertainments to be

taken as they came, enjoyed, and then left. The freedom of the encounters gave spice to it all.

But with Bella, it was different. Perhaps it was because she was the only woman he'd ever lost before

he'd tired of her. Perhaps it was because she was the only woman who'd ever sent him away. Or perhaps it was something as simple as ownership. She was hiswife. The word sent a possessive thrill

through him. His chest expanded at the thought, his body quickening.

With a simple tug at her neckline, Bella loosened her gown, pushed it wide, and it slid down to her

waist, a discarded froth of lace and silk and innocence. She shimmied a bit, kicking away the sheets as

she pulled the gown free, and tossed it off the bed.

All she wore was a thin chemise, and the rosebud circles of her breasts pressed wantonly against the

material and made his mouth water.

She sat upright and reached down to undo her boot laces, her chemise pulling lushly over her rounded

ass.

Carlisle admired the curve, his fingers curling at the thought of cupping her to him.

"The laces are knotted," she muttered, bending down farther to examine the problem. Her hair fell to

one shoulder, pins pinging to the floor as the heavy strands fell loose. She sighed with exasperation, then

took out the remaining pins and tucked her hair behind her ears.

Carlisle watched, his heart pounding a bit harder. Her hair was silken and thick, gleaming rich sable in the

firelight. He wanted to slide his hands through her hair, sink into the clinging softness.

God, she was beautiful.

Unaware of his barely held control, she pulled and tugged on the knot. "Blast it!" she fumed. "I can't

untie them; the laces are in knots."

He caught her wrist. "Leave them. I cannot wait." He pulled her against him hard and took her mouth

once more, kissing her deeply as he slid her chemise from her shoulders, pushing it down her arms, to her

waist, and over her boots.

A lace caught on a heel, and he yanked it free, ignoring the tearing sound. Carlisle slid his arm around Bella 's waist and lifted her to the center of the bed, where she lay clothed only in her pale skin, glossy hair,

silk stockings, and dark blue leather half boots.

Carlisle stepped back to enjoy the sight before him. There was something about the contrast of her wanton

body and the prim boots that stirred him even more. Something about the way her stockings rose from

those boots to caress her pale skin and travel up her legs to the middle of her bare, rounded thighs.

Her creamy skin contrasted vividly with the long sable hair fanned over his pillows and the tight curls that

hid the secrets between her thighs.

Never had Carlisle seen anything so enticing, so lovely. She lifted her arms and pulled him to her, her naked

chest against his. Carlisle sank into her embrace, soaking in her sweetness. He tasted her lips, her cheeks,

pressing kisses to her slender throat and shoulders. Every inch of her fascinated and intrigued him. Every

kiss drew a gasp from her lips and urged him on.

He found her lips again and kissed her deeply, caressing her, exploring her, inhaling her.

She moaned against his mouth, and with that one, primal sound, Carlisle finally lost control.

She was intensely aroused; he could see it, smell it, taste it. So turgid he ached, he hooked his hand

beneath one of her knees and pulled it high to his waist, his manhood pressing against her soft, damp opening.

Bella gasped, her head thrown back, her eyes closing. "Yes!" she said between panting breaths.

"Please!"

Still, he held back. As crazed as he was to be inside her, he wanted her to want him even more.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he pressed himself into her, gritting his teeth as her tight wetness encircled him with the firmness of a gloved hand.

Her lips parted, and she gasped loudly, her eyes flying open to meet his. "Carlisle."

She pressed against him, encouraging him to move faster, her hands tight on his shoulders.

He increased his movements, captured by the pure pleasure of her expression.

"Yes," she gasped.

Carlisle moved faster, consumed with the feel of her. She stretched about him, deliciously warm and wet,

gasping his name, writhing beneath him, her heels pushing against his ass, pressing him forward.

Sensations spiraled through him at the touch of hard leather, at the sounds of her gasps of pleasure, at the

scent of her mingled with lilac.

He hovered on the razor-sharp edge of control.

"God, yes," she said, pressing him forward, straining to take even more of him.

One of her leather boots rubbed against his hip, and he groaned at the shock of sensation, erotic

pleasure flooding him. As he took her with renewed passion, she arched against him, clinging tightly.

"Carlisle!" she gasped.

The sight of her face, the pleasure that suffused her skin with a flush of pink, forced him to grit his teeth

and hold back.

She clutched at his shoulders, lifting her hips, pressing against him, gasping for him to go faster.

In all his life, Carlisle had never had to fight for control the way he fought now. He'd never before flamed

with such passion, desired anyone more. It was as if she'd cast a spell on him, making him hers with each

touch and gasp.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he twined his hands in her hair, clenching his fists about the softness.

Her moans increased, and she moved frantically. He caught her shoulders and pressed deeply into her,

holding himself rigidly in place.

Her eyes flew open. Her breath caught. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Suddenly, she thrust

her hips forward, her heels pressing into the backs of his thighs as she came, her waves of tightening

pleasure grasping at him, tugging him, making him crazed with lust as she gasped his name over and

over.

Carlisle thrust forward, sinking deeply into her and sending her over the edge once more. With a cry, she

arched against him, clamping her legs around his hips as wave after wave of tightness clenched him.

He fell over the pinnacle with her, falling through a tumult of ecstasy, rasping out her name as he finally

allowed himself release.

Gasping, he collapsed over her, keeping his weight on his elbows. She quivered below him, her eyes

closed, her mouth parted, her face flushed with passion.

Carlisle rolled to his side, pulling her with him, and they lay in a tangle of legs and damp skin, hearts

thundering, souls reeling.

Bella thought she'd never be able to catch her breath, so hard was her heart pounding in her chest. But

moment by moment, her heartbeat slowed, and she became aware of Carlisle's broad chest against hers,

the tickle of his breath in her hair, the deliciously sensual slide of his damp skin over hers.

She slid her arms around his neck and held him there, unable to move, incapable of thinking. She closed

her eyes and savored the feel of him, the scent of their lovemaking, the freshness of the sheets, and the

warmth of his skin.

Did Carlisle feel the same wonder? Had their passion surprised him as much as her? Or was it what he'd

expected? Good God, what if sex wasalways like this for him—with every woman he'd been with?

Some of the glow began to subside. Bella could feel his heart beating more steadily now, feel his even

breaths in her hair.

She turned to look at him, at the way his lashes rested on the crests of his cheeks. Perhaps she should

ask him, find out what he was thinking and feeling.

But…what if he wasn't thinking the same things she was thinking? Of how wonderful, how special it

was? Worse, what if it hadn't been that good for him at all?

The uncertainty began to pinch at her. She had to ask him, had to know. She couldn't just lie there and

wonder. "Carlisle?"

He did not answer.

Oh, no, he had guessed what she was about to ask and was afraid to answer.

Bella gathered her nerve. "Carlisle?" she said a bit louder.

A soft snore was her answer.


	9. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Umhph!" A thump in Carlisle's side awakened him. He blinked and struggled to focus on the face in front

of him.

Full, soft lips folded in a displeased line. A pert, upturned nose was splashed with dusky freckles across

the bridge, barely noticeable in the light from the fireplace. Thickly lashed eyes glowed a lovely, mossy green.

All of this surrounded by a cloud of sable hair so thick it dared a man to—

Bella.

How did—Where had—Oh, yes.

The scent of their recent lovemaking and the feel of her bared legs twined with his slowly stirred his

memory, though his sated body struggled against the lethargic effects.

"You were snoring."

He opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of the accusing tone of her voice.

"Loudly."

He supposed it was annoying being awakened in such a way, especially if she had been as sound asleep

as he had been. "Sorry, love." He yawned. "After a good romp, I always sleep deeply."

Silence. "A good romp?"

Normally, Carlisle would have recognized the outrage in her quiet voice. Unfortunately, he was deep in the euphoric grip of after-sex stupor.

So he merely turned and spooned Bella to him. She fit against him perfectly, her head tucked beneath

his chin, her rounded ass pressing against him, her legs entwined with his.

Her hair tickled his nose, and he smoothed it back with his cheek, enjoying the feel of her silky skin and

the faint beat of her heart. "Let's sleep a bit, shall we?"

He closed his eyes and—

She pushed herself out of his embrace, cold air touching his skin where she and the blankets had once been. He frowned, opening one eye. "Hm?"

He sighed. "What things?"

"Things like"—her lips tightened with distaste—"our 'little romp.'"

There was no missing the outrage this time. Carlisle passed a hand over his face, struggling to push his sleepiness aside.

He had a "no talking after" rule which he zealously guarded. Any woman who didn't adhere to the rule

was never allowed back in his bed. So far, he'd been able to enjoy his after-tupping stupor luxuriously.

Perhaps he should have explained this to Bella before they fell into bed. The problem was, he had been

too angry and far too intent on getting between her thighs to manage any discussion. Being with her so

many hours in the carriage had fed his lust until he could barely keep his hands on the right side of her

clothing in front of the servants.

He wasn't capable of speaking right now, either—not about anything of substance—and he had a feeling

that was what she wished. He wanted to savor the repleteness of his body, enjoy the worry-freeing

effects of passion, and sleep the deep sleep that always came after a particularly satisfying tumble.

He slowly closed his eyes again, his thoughts melting behind images of their tryst, of her skin against his

—

"Carlisle!"

Her insistent voice tugged his eyes back open. She was now leaning on one arm, her hair falling over it

and pooling on the sheets in a thick swath of sable.

Damn, but she was beautiful. And lush. And all too tempting. Suddenly, Carlisle wasn't quite as sleepy. His

body was even beginning to stir, much to his delight. Smiling a bit at his own randiness, he rolled up onto his elbow to face her. "Very well, love. What shall we talk about?"

Carlisle kissed her heated cheek, trailing his lips to hers.

"Carlisle," she said, a bit breathlessly, "we may have very different expectations, and I don't wish that to become a problem."

He slid his hand to her hair. It seemed to have its own energy, curling around his fingers as if to hold them there. "I agreed to get you with child, and once that is accomplished, you will go on your merry way

and leave me in peace." He shrugged. "What more is there to say?"

"Well, it will be easier for us if we have the same thoughts about"—she gestured vaguely with one hand —"this."

What more did she want? If she was looking for some emotional promise, she was doomed to

disappointment. He had no heart to give, and was glad for it.

"Bella, I think I've already proven my abilities to provide what I have promised. Haven't I?" He grinned

when her cheeks pinkened more. "You may rest assured that I will fulfill my part of the bargain. Then you

can fulfill yours. Although," he drawled, "had I known marriage would be so stimulating, I might have

rethought my position on never marrying."

"Oh, yes. I would have done so several times, at least. Perhaps even once a month."

"That is not funny, Carlisle."

"I think it is."

She stirred restlessly, then sat up. "Goodness, I still have my boots on."

"So you do." He sat up and slid a hand down her leg, pulling her foot into his lap. "Allow me."

"I can untie them."

"You already tried and made knots of them." He deftly tugged on one knot, getting it undone fairly quickly, then tugged her foot from the boot. The warmth of the leather made him remember the feel of her boots upon his ass, an erotic moment he'd never forget.

He dropped the boot over the edge of the bed and turned to the other, which soon joined its mate on

the rug. "There." He settled back onto his pillow, pulling her against him.

She sighed, resting her cheek against his chest. "We always did well in bed."

"Yes, we did." Somehow, over the years, he'd forgotten how well they'd matched. He slid his fingers over her cheek and buried his fingers in her hair.

She lifted her face and met his gaze. "It was in other areas that we did not fare so well."

He paused, his fingers still in her curls. She was right. He had two very vivid memories of Bella from long ago. One of her lying naked upon a blanket under a warm summer sun, her peach-hued skin flushed

with passion, her hair curling wildly about her, a satisfied-woman smile on her lips. He'd been young and

bursting with pride that he'd been her first and had still managed to give her that glow.

The other memory was not so pleasant. He was standing in the rain, the world scented with lilac, as he read her words on an ink-smeared scrap of paper, thunder roaring in the distance.

Carlisle refused to remember the pain that day had caused him, the weeks and months of desolation. He'd

learned his lesson well, though; he'd never again allowed himself to believe in love or anything else he

couldn't see. Since then, life had been much simpler and far less painful.

He regarded her through half-closed eyes, glad his heart was now Bella-proofed. It was a good thing he

hadn't realized how her brothers had interfered in their relationship by letting slip Carlisle had a mistress. He

had, of course. He couldn't remember the woman's name now, for there had been too many, but he'd

had a mistress since he was seventeen. It was his right as a man of independence, something his parents

would have regarded with disapprobation, which had made him all the more determined to enjoy it.

He'd been mad to think of marrying Bella, a fact that had dawned on him within days of her jolting rejection. Mad to think that passion alone was enough to carry them across the bridal bridge.

Thank God he'd eventually gotten over that madness. He would make certain those old feelings—so

strong and out of control—remained naught but the fantasies of the wild youth he'd once been.

Suddenly, he realized that the worst thing he could do was stay where he was, snuggled in bed with

Bella. He could not allow the natural tenderness of the afterglow to soften his heart.

Perhaps that was what she meant by "expectations." It would be awkward if she began to expect more

of him than he was prepared to give. It would be a good idea to set her expectations to a believable level

right from the beginning, so she wouldn't develop any unreasonable hopes.

Frowning a bit, he sat up, allowing Bella to move out of his way. "What time is it?"

She glanced past him to the clock on the mantel. "It's almost four."

"Ah. It's still early, then." He flicked back the covers and slid his feet over the side of the bed.

Bella watched in disbelief as Carlisle stood and began to gather his clothes. "You…you are leaving?"

He didn't look up from pulling on his breeches. "Of course. The gaming hells never close, and I've acquaintances I've yet to greet since my return to town."

Bella's heart sank. "You are leaving," she repeated, disbelief in her voice.

He sat on a chair to pull on his boots. "As you suggested, perhaps we should discuss our expectations."

He rose and crossed to a wardrobe, where he pulled out a fresh shirt. "I normally have my valet attend

me, but I thought you might want more privacy. However, to make my comings and goings less

disturbing, we can move you into one of the guest rooms and—"

"No." Bella gathered the sheets and sat upright. "I will not be relegated to a guest room."

He shrugged. "As you wish. I just did not want to awaken you. I come in at varying times. So long as

you are a sound sleeper—"

"I sleep just fine," she retorted. "But I cannot believe you are leaving."

"I cannot believe it, either," he said, fastening his shirt. "I usually need a good hour's sleep after a romp like that."

So that's all it was to course it is, she told herself is not a real marriage. This is a marriage of convenience.

Still, she could not help but feel slighted. It seemed wrong that he should jump out of bed and head to

town. "Carlisle, I hope…I hope people think us a well-suited couple."

He opened the wardrobe again and removed a waistcoat. "Why does it matter what people think?"

"If my brothers were to hear rumors that things between us weren't as they should be, they might come

to town." It would take weeks for rumors to filter back to Scotland, but she hoped Carlisle did not think of

that.

"If my brothers were to hear rumors that things between us weren't as they should be, they might come

to town." It would take weeks for rumors to filter back to Scotland, but she hoped Carlisle did not think of

that.

"

"And I don't wish them to come to town. But if they thought I was unhappy or that you were carousing…" She shrugged.

Carlisle's face darkened. "That sounds like a threat."

"It's not a threat," she said defensively, though a twinge of guilt made her hug the sheets a bit closer. "It's just the truth."

Carlisle finished buttoning his waistcoat, then came to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached over and threaded his fingers through her hair. "Your brothers will come anyway; you are their only sister, and they

care for you."

She sighed. "I suppose they will."

"Once they get here, they will scrutinize our every move and annoy us to death." He trailed his fingers over her cheek to her lips.

She had to admit that his words rang true. She didn't want her brothers to come to London, nor did she want them to become involved in her marriage. It would only complicate things. She also wished Carlisle

would quit touching her; that complicated things as well. It distracted her and made it difficult to think.

He wound a tendril of her hair around his fingers and lifted it to his lips.

Bella's breath caught in her throat. Perhaps with time, she'd feel more settled with him. But right now, every nerve screamed for attention.

She pulled back, her hair sliding free from his fingers. "This plan has become more complicated by the

minute."

"Simple plans are often like that." He recaptured a long strand of her hair and brushed the tip of it over her lips. Her entire body still quivered from their passion, and the light touch sent an answering flare

through her.

He smiled. "But I would expect no less. With you, nothing is as simple as it should be."

Bella wasn't sure that was a compliment. Her lips tingled; her skin danced with goose bumps; her breasts tightened in anticipation. Every bit of her was aware of the man who faced her.

At least they stillhad passion; she hadn't been sure after so many years apart. It had been the mainstay of

their relationship—if you could call three jumbled weeks a relationship.

Yet Bella knew from bitter experience that passion would not solve their problems. At best, it would

give them a respite from the cares of the world and a means to become closer. But that was all.

Her heart ached, and she wished she could talk to Edward. He would know what to do; his innate ability to understand people was far greater than hers. But Edward would never again be able to give her advice.

He'd never again be there when she needed him.

"Bella?" Carlisle's soft voice cut through her thoughts.

She looked at him, caught on the edge of tears.

"You are thinking of Edward."

She swiped at her eyes with the back of one hand. "I'm sorry. I just wish I could talk to him." She

swallowed, trying to regain her composure. "I have not been able to discuss his death because my

brothers have been so upset themselves."

Carlisle's warm hand closed about her chin. He tilted her face until her gaze met his.

"You may speak of Edward any time you wish."

Carlisle's offer soothed her heart in a way she couldn't explain. She grasped his hand between hers.

"Thank you." A shy smile touched her mouth. "I would take you up on your offer, but I don't think you have enough shirts."

Carlisle looked at where she clasped his hand between hers, his expression frozen. Then, ever so carefully,

he disengaged himself and stepped from the bed, saying in a rather clipped voice, "It will dry very

quickly."

"I feel like a watering pot, tearing up so much."

"A lot has happened."

Hardening his heart, Carlisle crossed the room to find his coat.

In silence, he dressed, catching a glimpse of Bella from the corner of his eye. She sat pensively, the sheet pulled up to cover her breasts, her arms wrapped around her knees, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

The sight of her even white teeth set in the full, soft morsel of her bottom lip stirred him ruthlessly. He

had the right to bed Bella if he desired, the one woman he'd—

No. She was no different from any other woman he'd bedded. It was just that they'd never been able to

draw a satisfying conclusion to their relationship. The other women had stayed long enough that he'd

grown tired of them. But his and Bella's relationship had abruptly ended before it had reached that

natural was why he still felt this odd stirring of frustrated lust.

He found a new cravat and stood before the mirror. He was careful not to stand where he could see

Bella.

"Carlisle, where are you going?"

"To a select house party."

She was silent a moment. "What if I wish to go with you?"

"This is not the sort of amusement one takes a wife."

Carlisle ignored her, smoothing his waistcoat. "I agreed to this marriage only because I was forced. I did not agree to change my life in any way, shape, or form. This"—he turned to face her—"is who I am."

"I know that," she said stiffly, her chin lifted. "I merely thought you might wait at least one day before

you resumed your raucous pursuits."

He shrugged, turning his shoulder to her. "Why should I wait? There are cards to play, bourbon to drink,

women to—"

Lightning flashed outside. "There will be no other women."

He lifted his brows, his jaw tight. "I will not be threatened."

She flushed. "I didn't mean to—"

"We shall discuss this another time. Fortunately for you, after our"—he almost said "romp" but caught

himself—"exertions, I will not be in the mood for another woman. At least not tonight."

In the distance thunder rumbled, and she gave a decided flounce as she wrapped the sheets more tightly

about her.

Good. She was angry. That would keep them both from stupidly thinking this union was something more than it was. Still, he could not help but feel as if he'd just kicked a kitten. Repressing the oddest desire to

apologize, he turned back to the miror.

"We don't know yet if this gamble will succeed. We might not be able to produce this heir. Or perhaps

our families will simply ignore our noble sacrifices and hurl into one another anyway."

"They will not. I know they won't."

"We'll see," he said, placing a ruby pin in his cravat. His clothes didn't appear too wrinkled, which was

a wonder, considering he hadn't used the services of his valet.

Time to go. There was no more reason to stay, and yet…he found himself facing Bella. Her gaze met

his, her expression a mixture of disappointment and frustration.

She wanted him to stay. He knew it without her saying a word. He supposed he didn't blame her; she

was alone, in a house she didn't know, and still sad about the death of her brother.

Carlisle steeled himself. None of that mattered. If he stayed, she would begin to expect such things, and he

was not about to let her think he was something he was not.

"When will you return?" she asked.

He paused by the fireplace to stir the embers back into flames. "Tomorrow." He replaced the poker in

the stand by the fire. "Sleep well." He walked toward the door.

"Carlisle?"

He paused, his hand on the knob. "Yes?"

"You really do have no heart."

His jaw tightened, but he offered no defense.

"You always seem to hate that name, Black Carlisle," she said bitterly. "Yet here you are, striving to prove it true."

"I am what I am. I am exactly what I was before you married me, and I'll still be that after."

Her eyes flashed. "I have expectations, too. I do not wish to be left in this house alone all the time. I would like to see London while I am here."

"Of course, sweetheart. I am sure the coachman knows the way to Anstley's Amphitheatre."

Ignoring the angry set of her mouth, he bowed. "Meanwhile, I bid you good night." He slipped from the room and shut the door, quickly making his way to the foyer.

"My lord." Devonsgate stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Carlisle eyed the coat that was carefully hung over the butler's arm. "You knew I would be going out."

"You always do, my lord."

"Yes. I always do, don't I?"

"Yes, my lord. Once you have, ah—" The butler's gaze strayed up the stairs, then back, a faint touch of color in his high cheekbones. "Once you have awakened from your nap, you inevitably go to one of your

clubs, leaving your companion sleeping."

"I didn't realize I was so predictable."

"We are all creatures of habit, my lord." The butler helped Carlisle into his coat.

"And my habit is to visit gaming hells and buy gifts for unsuitable women," Carlisle said. "What a wonderful

set of habits, to be sure."

The rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and a sharp wind whistled, so stiff that it rattled the heavy door.

Carlisle sent a harsh glance up the staircase before buttoning his coat to his neck. "I will need a hat,

Devonsgate. I believe a storm is brewing."

"That's impossible, my lord. I was outside earlier, and it was clear—"

A flash of lightning lit the foyer before disappearing into a loud crack of thunder.

"Heavens! That sounds ominous."

Itwas ominous. Devonsgate just didn't know how much.

Carlisle took a deep breath, the familiar scent of lilac tickling his nose. Damn Bella. He placed his hat firmly on his head. He would go out and have a good time, no matter what. What was a little rain, anyway?

"What ill luck, that it should rain right now," Devonsgate said, eyeing the front windows with misgiving.

"That is the way things seem to be going for me lately. Ill."

"I have heard many times that you live a charmed life, my lord. There are many who envy you."

And why not? He had wealth, properties, and unlimited opportunities to do whatever he wished. He was indeed fortunate. So why did he feel as if he stood on the brink of a great cliff, a strong wind pushing him

forward, toward the edge?

Carlisle's gaze wandered past the butler, back up the stairs to the shadow of his bedroom door. For a long

time, he stood there, staring. Then, with a muttered imprecation, he turned on his heel and left for the

waiting carriage.


	10. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The White Witch was used to seeing fair men, but none so fair as the Swan. Och, they are bonny

lads and lassies, those Swans.

Preston House was situated on the edge of May-fair. Built of white brick and decorated with stylish

brass sconces and ornate trim work, it was as understated and quietly elegant as the dinner parties and

soirees Lord and Lady Preston hosted. The location was a favorite of the bon ton and it was not unusual

for Preston events to end with a leisurely breakfast for some of the more hardy guests.

Tonight, the bright lights of the house were barely visible from Carlisle's carriage, dimmed by the rain that

beat mercilessly upon the roof.

The coachman pulled up to the front door, and Carlisle jumped out, not waiting for the footman to appear.

The rain slashed at him as he raced up the steps, head down against the onslaught. He reached the

portico, protected from the rain by a large overhang.

Damn Bella for this deluge. He knew it was her; the faint scent of lilacs fanned his ire. How dare she

attempt to dissuade him from seeking his amusements? It simply made him more determined to enjoy his

freedom, and the sooner she realized that, the better for everyone.

Still grumbling to himself, Carlisle took off his coat and shook it.

A footman opened the door immediately. "Ah, Lord Cullen! Welcome to—" The man caught sight of

the rain and blinked, plainly shocked.

Carlisle glanced back. It wasn't just raining; it was a torrent streaming down in sheets.

"When did it begin raining?" the footman asked in a blank voice. He caught himself and flushed. "I'm

sorry, sir! It wasn't raining a moment ago, and—" He broke off, his mouth agape.

The footman blinked. "I've never seen such a thing!"

Carlisle looked up at the now-clear sky. The moon gleamed peacefully, stars twinkled all around. Carlisle

gritted his teeth and shoved his coat into the footman's arms. "Summer storms are damned

unpredictable." He walked past the man and into the gaming hell.

The next time he saw Bella, he'd—

He frowned. What could he do? She couldn't control the rain—not completely, anyway. He would have

to discover exactly how this family curse of hers worked. And if shecould control it in any way, he'd

have something to say about it.

Another footman greeted Carlisle in the foyer, politely asking if he'd like his usual bourbon and if he'd had

his dinner. That was more to Carlisle's liking, and he replied pleasantly to the man, even as he realized with

a faint sense of unease that while he'd been to this house often enough that the staff knew him on sight, he

didn't know any of their names. Bella would have chided him for that.

He scowled. Bella's expectations were completely unrealistic. Worse, they were getting in the way of

his amusements. Ignorance was a good part of comfort. His life had been much happier when he hadn't

been thinking about Bella and what she did or didn't feel.

The sounds of card play and laughter emanated from the main salon, despite the lateness of the hour.

Carlisle headed inside, where he was greeted by the reassuring clink of glasses and the sweet smell of cigar

smoke.

He paused, taking a deep breath, catching the eye of a delicate-looking blond beauty on the other side

of the room. She immediately made her way to his side.

Twelve years ago, Lucinda Featherington had been the surprise debutante of the season, her fragile

blond loveliness winning over her rather plebeian bloodlines and creating an instant fashion in the ton after

years of reign by a bevy of dark-haired beauties.

At the tender age of eighteen, Lucinda had caught the eye and eventually the heart of Paul Featherington,

one of the wealthiest men in England. After four years of being restricted by the boundaries of marriage,

she was delighted when Lord Featherington's political ambitions were realized, and he was appointed

ambassador to a remote province in India. Lucinda had cried off going with him, saying the heat would

be disastrous for her health. She'd very prettily promised to behave herself and had even brought an old,

rather deaf, and somewhat blind cousin into her house as chaperone. Reassured that his wife would be

living within the lines of propriety, Lord Featherington left for foreign climes, returning every so often to

visit.

Lucinda had always been attracted to men of great wealth, which was why Carlisle had been rather

flattered by her attentions. Wealth he might have, but he also possessed other qualities that made him stand out in her crowd of admirers. Qualities he'd used to good advantage with Bella that very evening.

Carlisle smiled a bit. His skills had left his bride panting and flushed with pleasure.

Carlisle forced himself back to the present. He was there to regain his balance, not to obsess over the very

satisfactory flames between himself and Bella.

"Ah, Carlisle! There you are." Lucinda almost purred as she came forward, a flutter of pale blue silk and

white lace, the cloying scent of rose lifting from her white skin.

She smiled up at him and slipped her arms through one of his, pressing her breasts against him. "I didn't

expect to see you so soon."

"My dear Lucinda, I was in your bed but four days ago. Surely you remember. The night your husband

returned home and you bade me leave through the window?"

Her smile dimmed a moment, her eyes searching his face to see how displeased he might be. Seeing

nothing in his expression to help her, she managed a false laugh and said, "Poor Featherington! He was

here only one day before he was called to Dover for a meeting with Lord Burleson." She gave him an

arch smile. "Had I known he would be gone so quickly, I would have asked you to stay at the inn in the

village, so you could return immediately."

Carlisle looked down at Lucinda's generous breasts and waited for a flicker of attraction, an answering

heat of some sort. But nothing happened.

Had this been Bella standing beside him, her breasts barely covered by thin silk and pressed against his

arm, he'd have picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and taken her back to the carriage so he

could slake the growing passion. He shook his head, trying to stop his errant thoughts.

"Carlisle?" Lucinda's voice sounded uncertain. "What is it? You…you are looking at me in the oddest

way."

He frowned. "I'm sorry. I was thinking of something else."

Her expression tightened, an unpleasant glitter rising in her eyes. "What are you thinking about? Or

should I ask whom?"

The proprietary note in her voice gave him pause. He eyed her a moment, then removed her hand from

his arm. "My thoughts are my own. I will share them with whomever I wish."

For a moment, her eyes flashed, and he thought she would retaliate. But something in his expression

caused her to swallow a retort. She gave a brittle laugh. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you owed

me anything."

He bowed, saying nothing.

She flushed a little at the silent rebuke, fixing her large blue eyes on his face, a faint pleading note in her

soft voice. "Carlisle, I was merely funning. It's the heat and the lateness of the hour." She managed a

charming smile, peeping up at him through her lashes. "I am famished, you know, and breakfast is not for two more hours."

"Perhaps." She pressed against him once more, her full breasts rubbing the sleeve of his coat. "Most menwant me to notice when they are not present."

"I am not most men." Bella would be the first one to point that out, though not in a complimentary way.

Lucinda ran a hand along Carlisle's arm, then glanced up at him through her lashes. "Perhaps we should leave. Featherington won't be home for a few more days. We could take your carriage and—"

"No. We cannot take my carriage."

Lucinda blinked at his vehemence.

Carlisle's jaw tightened. "It's not working correctly. It—it has developed a leak."

"But…it's not raining."

"It was storming when I came in."

"How odd. I arrived only an hour ago, and it was beautiful."

Yes, but that was before he'd made Bella angry. Suddenly, Carlisle felt an overwhelming need to remove

himself from Lucinda's cloying presence. He'd been wrong to come here. There would be no other

women for him, not until he'd resolved his issues with Bella. Besides, Lucinda's charms had palled.

"Carlisle, is something wrong?"

"No. I am just not in the mood for conversation right now." Once again, he extricated himself from her

grasp. "I believe I'll find an open table and play some cards."

Her cheeks flushed unbecomingly, her mouth thinning. "Have a care what you are about, Carlisle. I shall

feel ignored, and I do not like that." Her voice quivered with outrage.

Carlisle had never seen this side of her, and, frankly, he didn't like it. "My dear, our relationship is far from

exclusive. In fact, I believe you are also visiting Sir Melkinridge?" Carlisle looked pointedly at the diamond

necklace that hung at Lucinda's white throat.

The color in her cheeks did not fade. She managed a shrug. "Only now and then. You know that."

"You may have him with my blessing. Just do not pretend that you and I have more of an arrangement

than we do. We have been mutually satisfying friends but no more."

Lucinda almost gasped at the coolness of Carlisle's tone. She'd come there tonight without the expectation

of seeing him; he was unpredictable and it was impossible to say when and where he might show up. It was one of the many things she found fascinating about him. One of the reasons she was beginning to

think she might be in love.

She had everything a woman could want: her own wealth, the admiration of a multitude of men, a fond but absent husband, several lovely homes. And yet something had been missing. Until she met Carlisle

Cullen, she hadn't known what that was.

All her life, Lucinda had demanded and received the constant attention of those around her. Carlisle was

different, which made life frightening and exciting. Oddly enough, the more he pulled away, the more she

felt this demanding tug of attraction.

His attention was even now wandering to the card tables. Coldness seeped through her. Had she done

something to lose him forever? He'd seemed upset when she'd asked him to leave through the window.

Had she wounded his pride? "Carlisle, perhaps I should tell Featherington about us so we can—"

"Don't be ridiculous. Would you also tell him about Melkinridge and the others?"

She flushed. "No, of course not. I just think it's horrid you had to leave in such a manner. It pains me to

think of it."

His eyes darkened, an unknown thought flickering across his face. "It was a bit painful." A secretive

smile touched his lips. "But only at first."

What did he mean by that? She eyed him narrowly. There was something different about him. What was

it? "Carlisle, did you—"

"Ah, Cullen!" came a deep voice. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Lucinda stiffened as a tall, elegantly dressed man with black hair and blue eyes took her hand in his and

pressed a kiss to the back of it. "And the lovely Lady Featherington. How nice to see you."

Carlisle nodded, wondering why he found every acquaintance so irksome this evening. "Campbell."

"Ah, Black Carlisle! I haven't seen you in forever."

Lucinda's brows rose. "Ah, yes. Black Carlisle. I wonder how that name came to be?" Her chilled tone

indicated that she thought she knew.

Campbell smiled, his gaze never leaving Carlisle's. "It's an old childhood name. One given to him by his

own mother when he fought his stepfather down the steps of the stately Cullen manor."

"I don't remember," Carlisle said tersely.

Campbell shrugged. "That's how I remember it, anyway. And the name has stuck over the years, which

I find very telling."

Long ago, Alan Campbell had been a playmate of Carlisle's. That had changed when Alan had reached his

majority. Determined in his ambition to restore his family to greatness, Campbell became a less and less

enjoyable companion. He spent his time gathering properties the way some men collected snuffboxes,

stepping on quite a few people along the way.

Campbell bowed to Carlisle, but his gaze lingered on Lucinda. Carlisle ignored the look; every man present

had a fondness for Lucinda. They could have her; he was discovering that he preferred women more

spontaneous in nature.

She withdrew her hand and placed it on Carlisle's sleeve. "How are you this evening, Campbell? I trust you

are having a good run of luck."

The man's mouth twisted. "Since when did the Campbells ever have any luck? Of course"—he slid a sly

glance to Carlisle—"our luck is nothing compared to the Swans'. Carlisle, you know the Swan family,

don't you?"

"I know them," Carlisle said shortly.

"I thought you might." Campbell's gaze dropped to Lucinda's hand on Carlisle's arm. "By the way,

Cullen, I forgot to congratulate you."

"Congratulate him?" Lucinda looked from Carlisle to Campbell. "What for?"

"On his marriage, of course."

Lucinda's hand convulsively tightened, her nails digging through his sleeve.

Carlisle sent a cold look at Campbell.

Shock and disbelief warred in Lucinda's blue eyes. "You've married?"

"Yes," Carlisle said, seeing her stricken God, she cares for me. Never would he have believed such a thing. "I am sorry."

"So am I," she snapped. She let go of his arm.

"I should have told you sooner, but—"

"Who is she?" Lucinda said in a tight voice.

For some reason, he felt Bella's name was not for this place, these people. "It doesn't matter."

"What's wrong, Carlisle, my friend? Shy?" Campbell flashed a smile at Lucinda. "I believe I can answer your question."

Carlisle sent the man a furious glare. The bastard had done enough as it was. Damn! He should have told

Lucinda about his marriage the second he stepped through the door. But perhaps this was best—now

she was furious with him, thus ending the relationship quickly. Though Campbell thought he was causing

Carlisle problems, he might, in fact, be doing him a great favor.

"The lady's name is Bella Swan," Campbell said.

"I have never heard of her," Lucinda said.

Campbell shrugged. "She has been a recluse of sorts."

Carlisle eyed Campbell dispassionately. "I didn't realize my marriage was common knowledge already."

"I returned this evening from my holdings in Scotland. Since my valet is the brother of the upstairs maid in the Swan house…" Campbell smiled. "Needless to say, your name was on everyone's lips. I hear the lady's brothers are not happy with the elopement."

Carlisle sent a quick glance at Lucinda, who stood as if turned to stone, her eyes glitter-hard. Still, she

managed to say with credible composure, "Carlisle, you really must tell us all about the wedding. I am sure it

was quite spectacular."

If she only knew. "It was not fancy."

Campbell chuckled a bit. "Oh, do not hide your light, my friend! I hear it was quite romantic." The man

leaned toward Lucinda and said in a low voice, "He literally stole the lovely Bella from beneath her

brothers' noses—quite a feat, indeed." Campbell's smile tightened. "Of course, with a woman as lovely as Bella, who can blame him? I might fight a few dragons myself for someone like her."

"She's beautiful, is she?" Lucinda's voice sounded flat.

Carlisle frowned at Campbell. "How do you know Bella?"

Campbell shrugged. "I once worshipped at that altar, long ago. Her brothers offered to remove my head

from my shoulders for daring to speak to her when they were not present, though they punished me

enough. It rained for two weeks at my home after I left."

"Rained?" Lucinda frowned.

"Oh, yes. The Swan family is cursed. They can cause the weather to storm, rain to fall, lightning to

strike. Yet they cannot direct it. I drew their ire, hence the rain."

"I don't believe in such things," Lucinda scoffed.

Campbell eyed Carlisle with a smirk. "Now that I think on it, you look a bit damp yourself, my friend."

Jaw clenched, Carlisle met Campbell's gaze evenly. "I bathed before I came."

Campbell pursed his lips. "I cannot help but think there is a fortune to be made, if one could discover how to control the curse."

Carlisle quirked a brow. "Then it wouldn't be a curse, and the power would cease to exist."

"Do you think so? Of course, theyall have to perform their deed."

"What deed?" Lucinda asked.

"In order to break the curse, all members of a generation must perform a deed of great good.

Personally, I cannot see that happening. The lady's brothers are not the softhearted sort."

"I find them all quite pleasant," Carlisle said with a smile, though he felt like planting his fist in Campbell's face. "I suppose that's why I am now a member of the family and not you."

The thought burned through Carlisle, though he knew better than to show his anger. "I will tell my lovely

wife you said so. I am certain it will amuse her no end."

Campbell took a step forward, then caught himself, forcing out a laugh. "I am certain she will. Of course,

she has not had time yet to realize what aprize she has gained in her husband, has she? She will learn

soon enough." Campbell's gaze narrowed. "Has she met the lovely Lucinda? Or are you saving that

surprise for a later date?"

"Campbell!" Lucinda said, her color high. "That is quite enough."

Carlisle was suddenly tired of it. He used to think innuendo and flirtation the spice of life; now it all seemed

insipid and tiring.

He turned to Lucinda. "I believe I'll join the faro table. There is an open seat." He bowed to her, then

nodded to Campbell. "Good evening."

For the next few hours, he played without cease, tossing back glass after glass of brandy. Lucinda

watched him from the other side of the room, but he didn't care. They were finished.

Campbell was a more visible irritant. He joined the table next to Carlisle's, talking behind his hand to the

gentlemen on his right and left, glancing frequently at Carlisle.

The details of Carlisle's marriage would be all over town tomorrow, damn it, along with the story of Bella'

s "abilities." While no one would believe it, they would unconsciously be on the lookout for signs.

What a bloody mess. If he kept Bella in seclusion, the rumors would only grow. The only answer was

to present her to society quickly, and make her known. Which meant he would have to attend all the

boring, bland affairs he studiously avoided.

Damn it all. He was just beginning to realize how much his lifehad changed.

The bright sunlight awakened Bella, and she opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room. Ah, yes. She was

in London. With Carlisle.

But the bed was empty. She sat up uncertainly and looked at the clock. Nine o'clock. And no Carlisle.

Blast him. She threw aside the cover and scooted to the edge of the bed. The movement tickled her

aching muscles, reminding her of how heavenly making love with him had been.

She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, hugging a pillow to herself. Heavenly.

Now she had to face the other realities of her marriage, namely her absent husband.

"This will not do," Bella announced. "I did not come to London to sleep by myself."

She slid from the bed, her bare feet sinking into the thick rug. Her clothes lay on the floor, a puddle of

muslin and silks topped with her boots. She scrunched her nose; if she put her gown back on, it would be

a wrinkled mess. Still, she had little choice. She gathered her clothes and went to the washbasin on a

stand in the corner. She washed as well as she could and dressed, then put up her hair. some breakfast.

She could hear the rumble of carriages outside, the shout of a coachman, dogs barking, vendors shouting

their wares—all the normal street noises of a city. She also caught the faint murmur of voices inside and

came out onto the landing, smoothing her gown as best she could.

She had just taken the first step down when a plump lady dressed in the neat gray and white of a

housekeeper came into the foyer below. Bella recognized her from the night before and said, "Good

morning."

The woman stopped dead in her tracks, her face instantly folding into disapproval.

Bella paused. She had done nothing to merit such a look. It was almost as if the woman—

Realization dawned. Carlisle hadn't introduced her to the servants when they'd arrived last night; he'd carried her into the house and straight upstairs to his room. They must all think she was a ladybird.

Bella's hands fisted at her sides. Blast Carlisle for leaving her alone! Well, she'd just have to deal with it

herself.

Head held high, Bella descended the stairs. She nodded pleasantly to the housekeeper. "I am looking

for Lord Cullen."

The woman's chin lifted. "If he didn't tell you where he was going, then 'tis none of your concern."

Bella's back stiffened. "I beg your pardon, but itis indeed my concern. He is my husband."

The housekeeper gawked."What?"

Bella didn't think she could have shocked the woman more if she'd announced she had just grown another head. "I am Lady Cullen."

A door at one side of the foyer opened, and a tall man emerged from a side room, a neat swath of linen folded over his arm. "Mrs. Tarlington, I believe this is—" He stopped when he caught sight of Bella.

"Oh, I am sorry. I did not see—forgive me, Miss—?"

"Lady Cullen."

The butler blinked, then bowed. "Good morning, my lady. I am Devonsgate, his lordship's butler."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Bella said. "I am looking for his lordship. Do you know where he might be?"

Mrs. Tarlington sniffed but didn't say anything more.

Bella gave the plump housekeeper a stern look before turning back to the butler. "His lordship went out

last night shortly after we arrived. I thought he would be home before now, but he is not. Unless he is

taking breakfast?"

"I see," Bella said.

"Yes, my lady. It is not unusual for his lordship to stay out all night."

That would have to change; she could not imagine that such behavior was healthy.

She frowned, catching sight of herself in one of the large mirrors that flanked the hallway. Her gown was

hideously wrinkled, her hair barely contained with her few pins, her face flushed. It dawned on her that

the gown she wore was the only one she possessed.

She turned her gaze to the butler. "Before he left, did his lordship make any arrangements for me?"

"No, my lady. He just called for his carriage and left." The butler gave her an apologetic look. "Usually

when his lordship has aguest, he will tell us she is not to be disturbed and to see to it that she arrives

home safely. He did not make such a request in your case."

"Mrs. Tarlington, please send a bath to my chambers and have someone come help me with my hair and

gown. I was forced to leave my home in a hurry and did not bring anything else with me, so I shall need

to have this gown cleaned and pressed."

The housekeeper's lips thinned, but Bella turned to the butler. "Devonsgate, please send a tray to my

room. Just tea and toast will do."

"Yes, madam. Will there be anything else?"

"Yes. I wish to send a note to his lordship. Do you know where he might be?"

The butler's expression froze. "I might be able to locate him," he said cautiously.

"Excellent. Pray send him this message. Tell Lord Cullen that hiswife wishes him to come home, and if

he does not make an effort to do so soon, she will come and fetch him."

Devonsgate paled, but for the first time, Mrs. Tarlington's wide mouth split in a reluctant grin.

Bella turned back to the stairs. "I shall expect the bath and the maid immediately. Breakfast can wait

until after that." She paused, one foot on the bottom step. "Actually, make that breakfast for two. I am

certain his lordship will waste no time in returning home."

Thatshould set a precedent of no small order. Feeling better, Bella walked briskly up the steps.

Mrs. Tarlington said, "Well, I'll be! His lordship has a wife!"

Devonsgate stared up the stairway after Bella, his mouth agape.


	11. please read

Hey sorry i have not been updating but am still not sure if i want to continue i might do one more chapter soon.

Am looking for a story called Who could love a pyromaniac its about Bella that likes to lights fire and gets sent to a ranch run by the Cullen's the IP address is http:/www(.)fanfiction/(.)net/s/5742868/1/Who_could_love_a_pyromaniac but it comes up not known but i goggled it so if you know who writes this story please tell me or even better is its on another website please tell me i have already tried twilighted(.)com

Thanks

Edward 'me

Aka Kara


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